Impressions
by Tajjas
Summary: Steve had never been one for more than casual friendships, but in this place everything else was different so maybe that would be too. Steve's impressions of the Warehouse team and his place on it over the course of the season.
1. First Impressions

_Steve's first impressions of the Warehouse team, set at the end of _The New Guy_. I'm finally starting to catch up on Season 3 episodes so this is possibly a one-shot, possibly a multi-shot (although it shouldn't be considering the number of other unfinished stories that I have and the fact that real life is determined to do me in at the moment)._

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><p>Steve let himself fall backwards on his bed and groaned, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't know what he was doing here. Sure, the whole killer folio thing had been kind of exciting, minus the part where it had almost killed <em>him<em>, anyway, but it was nothing like what he was trained for. From everything he'd seen, nothing here was like what he was trained for. And this manual that Artie had tossed in his general direction this morning mid Ovoid-Quarantine-overflow rant…well, he'd started on it over lunch, but the damn thing was like a billion pages long. Or at least it was topping a thousand, anyway, and he wasn't an idiot, but there was no way that he was going to remember more than a tenth of what he read. He'd been flipping through it more or less at random since they'd gotten back from the Warehouse this evening, trying to get an overall sense of things, but between inventory scanners and Dark Vaults and killer paintings and an entire chapter about something called the Neutralizer Processing Center complete with some _very_ dire warnings about what would happen if it went offline….

There was a light knock at his door, interrupting his thoughts. "Steve? It's Leena. I'm about to put dinner on the table."

Right, dinner was served at six. She'd told him that yesterday evening when they'd gotten back from Denver and he'd finally had time to take a look around the place and start unpacking his things. And he'd managed to forget within a day, way to make a good impression. "Thanks," he called back. "I'll be down in just a minute."

Her footsteps moved on past his room, and he pushed himself back into a sitting position and set the manual on the table beside his bed. Yet another thing here that he wasn't quite sure how to deal with; a team that was accustomed to working as closely together as this group obviously was. Not that he _couldn't_ work in a team environment, of course, teams were a given in law enforcement, but he'd always kept his work life work and his private life private. As far as he was concerned, grabbing a beer with the guys after a hard case was as much crossover as there ever needed to be. The idea of _living_ with his coworkers…well, 'disconcerting' was a mild way of putting it.

Artie, properly Arthur Nielson, hadn't actually slept at the Bed and Breakfast last night so Steve assumed that he, at least, lived somewhere else, but since he did seem to show up for meals, that probably didn't make much of a difference. Artie's background was NSA from what little Steve had managed to get out of him, and he was kind of out there, especially for a supervising agent. But then again, he'd also apparently been dealing with—and surviving—things like killer folios for several decades. His temperament might take some getting used to, but if he was willing to share that experience, Steve was willing to listen.

He wasn't sure how far Artie's authority actually extended, though. Oh, Artie was definitely the field commander here, but from the way that that Fredric woman had spoken when she'd come to his apartment, she had to be somewhere above him. Steve's first inclination had been to think that she was ultimately in charge, but then Regents—definitely plural, definitely capital-R Regents—had been mentioned, and he had no idea who they even _were_ never mind how they might fit into anything. When he'd asked, Artie had only shaken his head and muttered something incomprehensible before stomping off yelling about his glasses. Or possibly for his glasses. Or to his glasses. It was hard to say.

Pete—formally Peter Lattimer—he had been able to get a little more information out of, however. Well, not about Artie or Mrs. Fredric since for a guy who obviously liked to talk he'd been very good about respecting their privacy, but he had been willing to talk about himself a little. He'd been a Marine way back when, and then after some issues with alcohol with the Secret Service, and then he'd come to the Warehouse almost two years ago. Some of what he'd said had been a little strange to hear given that for a good part of the folio case he'd acted as much like an overgrown child as anything else, but then again, he'd also proven that he wasn't a bad guy to have on one's side in a fight. Not to mention that for someone who hadn't much wanted Steve around in the first place, he'd accepted him as part of the team pretty quickly. It was just that Steve was accustomed to…quieter…partners, and Pete's personality would probably take as much getting used to as Artie's.

And then there was Leena. Steve shook his head. He'd only met her in passing before being dragged off to Denver, and although they'd spoken a little more last night and this morning, she was even better than Artie at talking around questions. To the point where he wasn't even sure what her personality _was_. Or, for that matter, what her last name was. And while she obviously helped out in the Warehouse, her official job seemed to be running the B and B, and he had no idea whether she ever did any fieldwork or if she'd just been filling in while they were shorthanded.

Footsteps too light to be Pete's pounding past his room marked yet another mystery. Claudia Donovan, who couldn't possibly even be old enough to drink yet. That alone should make her ineligible for service here since as far as he knew all federal law enforcement agencies had a minimum age of 21 for everything except clerical positions, but he hadn't sensed any lie when she'd claimed to be an agent. And she'd definitely been involved in the whole Hendrix guitar mess. It was just barely possible that she'd come from the NSA like Artie, since he didn't think that they had a minimum age, but even then she'd have had to start college so ridiculously early that it didn't seem likely. He shook his head. Whatever the others seemed to think—and as far as he could tell they were all perfectly accustomed to her presence and input; she'd been the one to respond to Artie's yell about glasses—he just couldn't see himself working with a child.

In fact, the one person that Steve had met so far on this reassignment that he thought that he'd have the _easiest_ time working with was the person who'd just come back this morning from some kind of…what? Leave of absence? Temporary retirement? Whatever it was being called, if he'd understood correctly she had to go through a trial period before being fully reinstated, but from what he'd seen in Denver Myka Bering was a consummate professional. Very intelligent, very good at her job, and not likely to be someone that these capital-R Regents would turn down. Of course, given how easily she had seemed to deal with the killer folio, he very much wondered why she'd left in the first place, but….

He shook his head again. Whatever this job was going throw at him, he was going to have to handle it, because when he'd contacted his old supervisor the man had been surprised to hear from him having taken the transfer as a given. And while he wasn't the worst superior that Steve had ever had, he was too by-the book to fight what had been presented to him as a legitimate reassignment from above. Well, not for Steve Jinks, anyway, and maybe that was a side effect of _not_ having had more camaraderie with his old team than those occasional beers after work. But then again, he didn't really want to go back. He'd made contact more out of courtesy than anything else—disappearing off the face of the earth without a word wasn't a good thing for an ATF agent to do—but he hadn't been particularly close to anyone there.

"_Jinksy, dinner!_" Pete yelled from somewhere downstairs, and Steve pushed himself to his feet and headed out the door. No, for better or worse, and however much it felt like he'd been thrown in at the deep end at the moment, he was now a Warehouse agent.


	2. Second Impressions

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. This won't get out of my head, so apparently it is going to be a multi-part story…some will be post-episode stuff, some will probably be independent chapters, and some will be a combination of the two, although I'm going to try to keep it chronological. Real life is killing me at the moment, though, so I'm not sure that this will be updated any more frequently than my other stories._

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><p><em>* * (<em>Post _Trials) * *_

Rapid knocks at his door at just about chest height drew his attention away from the screen in front of him, and his suspicion that his visitor was Claudia was confirmed almost immediately. "Jinksy, we're going for ice cream. Do you want to come?"

"No, thanks," he called back. Dinner had only been an hour and a half ago, and not only was Leena a good cook, she also wasn't one to skimp on the portions.

"Are you sure? Do you want us to bring you back anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"All right, later."

He shook his head. _Way_ too much sugar, all of them.

He did another quick read-through of his case write-up. Write-ups, actually, since this was the first time that he'd had a chance to sit down and do one for the folio case. His scan didn't turn up anything that needed changing in either, but statements about killer folios and injury-transferring knives somehow sounded even more ridiculous when written out than they did in conversation. And he still thought that the whole collect-the-artifact-not-the-perp thing was a little skewed. Then again, he'd have felt like crap if he'd had to put Larsen in cuffs after what he'd done for his son so maybe it was just as well. At least this time.

He sighed and then shook his head and shut his computer. Whoever was getting these reports had to be Warehouse-savvy, and he couldn't exactly leave the artifacts _out_ when doing the write-ups so there wasn't much point in worrying about it. He'd print them both and give them to Artie tomorrow. He frowned as the obvious occurred to him: he had to find a printer, first. He'd always used the one at the ATF offices before, but he didn't remember seeing one at the B and B. Surely there was somewhere, though, if not here then at the Warehouse. Claudia could probably hook him up.

It hadn't been so bad, working with her. Definitely not the babysitting job that he'd thought that it would be when Artie had assigned them to the case. Okay, yeah, she could be a pest and a half when she wanted to be—her 'me' dance, anyone?—and the less said about that first mid-stakeout conversation the better, but she did know what she was doing when it came to the Warehouse stuff. And if she was a little awkward…well, he couldn't exactly claim that he hadn't had his own social issues at twenty. Besides, no matter what she'd _said_, he was pretty sure that telling him about being in an institution had been deliberate. Maybe not initially, but confirming it had been, and it had been a sweet thing to do even if it had left him even more confused than he had been about how she'd come to work at the Warehouse. He could see them recruiting from the Secret Service, the ATF, the NSA, or almost any other government agency easily enough, but mental institutions? Not so much.

Something about her nagged at him a little, too, and it wasn't just the fact that she still seemed pretty young to be doing this. But it was nothing that he could place offhand so there wasn't much that he could do but wait for it to come to him. Since Myka and Pete seemed to have fallen back into their previous partnership pretty seamlessly, he was probably going to have plenty of time to figure it out.

Their latest case had been even weirder than he and Claudia's, if that was possible. A tie clip that took away a person's memories, to the point where they actually stopped remembering to _breathe_ if he'd understood Myka correctly. It was insane. Not that things hadn't worked out okay for them too, but he didn't think that he'd ever be able to take things like that in stride the way that everyone else here seemed to.

He grabbed his manual and stretched out on his bed, flipping it open. Six chapters down, only a couple hundred more to go. Whoever wrote this thing hadn't been very concerned with preserving the eyesight of any agents who had to read it, either.

He made it through chapters seven and eight, but chapter nine was giving him a headache when footsteps alerted him to the others' return, and he sat up on his bed and rolled his shoulders. Maybe one of them would be willing to do a little summarizing for him. From a comment Leena had made when she'd seen him reading it, Myka knew the thing forward and backward.

"Hey, Jinksy, are you still up?" Pete yelled from just outside his door as he was getting to his feet. "Can I come in?"

"Well, if he wasn't awake, he is now," Myka pointed out, her voice much quieter. "Honestly, Pete."

"Uh, yeah, I'm—come in," Steve said.

Pete burst in, grinning. "I come bearing ice cream."

"Um...thanks?" He accepted the ice cream and spoon that Pete held out automatically. "But I told Claudia that I didn't want any."

Pete shrugged. "Yeah, Myka always says that too, but we don't listen to her either. We didn't know what kind you liked so we got you chocolate." He paused. "Oh. Manual. Ew."

"You know, you might take a hint and do some reading yourself," Myka called from somewhere down the hall.

Pete shook his head and stepped back out into the hall, looking in the direction the words had come from. "Now, why would I do that when I've got you? Reading makes you get all these little wrinkles around your eyes. And didn't I tell you about that line forming on your—"

Pete ducked, and Steve saw a flash as something, probably a pillow, flew over his head.

Pete shot him a grin. "Later, Jinksy, apparently I've got to run."

Steve shook his head as Pete pulled the door shut behind him and then popped the top off the ice cream container. He really shouldn't be eating any more tonight. But it did look good, and maybe the sugar would give him the energy to focus a little better. And when Myka was finished harassing Pete he would ask her if she wouldn't mind explaining a few things.

He was finishing the last few bites when he heard a crash followed by a decidedly irritated '_Pete_!' and decided abruptly that maybe he'd try Claudia first. If she couldn't answer his questions, he'd see Myka tomorrow. That would be soon enough. He'd wanted to talk to Claudia a little more anyway; now was as good a time for that as any.

He wasn't quite sure which room was hers, but the one standing open with a big-screen TV on a stand by the far wall, a messy pile of clothes on the chair, and a stack of what looked like comics on the dresser had to be Pete's. He could hear Pete and Myka talking—well, arguing—behind another door, presumably her room, and he took a chance and tapped lightly on one of the other closed ones.

"S'open," was Claudia's immediate response to his knock.

Good guess, apparently. Then again, there hadn't been that many other options. "Hey," he greeted, opening the door cautiously. "Do you have a minute?"

She grinned. "I have several. Come on in."

"What are you doing?" It wasn't exactly the question that he'd planned to ask, but he hadn't expected to find her sitting cross-legged on her bed, goggles and purple gloves in place and with a purple sheet in front of her littered with an assortment of tools and metal pieces either.

"Tweaking the grenade. Given the size of the bottle, I should be able to get a way better charge out of it."

He tensed at the round object she held up, recognizing the thing that had taken out three members of the bomb squad back at the museum. They'd been fine—he'd checked—but he still couldn't say that he was happy to see it again. "Uh, should you be doing that here?"

"Well, Leena's baking in the kitchen, and if I do it in the sitting room, Pete will probably wind up zapping himself again. I mean, it was funny the first couple times, but after awhile it gets old."

"I can see how that could happen," he said after a minute. "But I meant, shouldn't you be doing that at the Warehouse?"

"Please. If I had to be at the Warehouse to get everything I need to do done, I'd never leave" She shook her head, stretching to set the grenade on the table beside her bed and then stripped off her gloves and pushed the goggles up onto her forehead. "So what's up? Oh, uh, you can sit down, if you want."

It was much easier for him to see her eyes when she wasn't wearing the goggles, and after a minute, he accepted the invitation and sank into the only chair in the room that wasn't taken up by a pile of stuff. "It's…I needed to talk to you for a minute. And I had a couple questions about this thing, too." He held up the book.

She shrugged. "Myka's the expert on the manual, her and Artie, but I'll do my best."

"Other thing first." He checked to make sure that the door had shut behind him. "Do me a favor and don't tell the others about me being gay, all right?" He wasn't at all ashamed of who he was, but among those who took issue with his personal life, a disproportionate number seemed to fall into the over-fifty or ex-military categories. Currently that comprised two of his four fellow agents, including his supervisor, and as closely as they all worked together…well, if one of them took exception, it could get awkward. And not just in a dear-God-would-she-please-let-me-get-a-word-in kind of way. A few smartass comments prior to acceptance were one thing—he'd had learned a long time ago what was and wasn't worth paying attention to—but he'd also had a couple genuinely bad experiences and no interest in repeating them. It was probably going to come up eventually, he realized that, but he'd just as soon that they got to know him a little better before risking any labels.

"I wouldn't anyway," she said immediately. "It's your call. But I don't think you need to worry."

He shrugged. She might be right. She certainly believed that it was the truth, and she knew them better than he did. And it wasn't like he'd ever heard anything from Pete or Artie—or Myka or Leena—that would make him doubt his welcome, nor had he heard any comments from anyone about Claudia's wardrobe, a couple pieces of which bore pins openly supportive of GLBT issues. But then again, some of her other pins had aliens in sunglasses on them so it was also possible that no one knew that any of them had real meaning. He didn't really know any of them any better than they knew him.

She shook her head, apparently reading the hesitation in his face. "Your call, like I said. So, what in the manual is giving you a headache?"

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><p>"No, no, no! That was <em>totally<em> my idea. You stole it when—"

"_I _stole it?" Myka turned away from the crate she was unpacking, arms crossed over her chest. "Please, I was trying to come up with some kind of plausible explanation for what was probably the worst cover story since—"

"Don't even go there," Pete interrupted. "Or don't you remember what you told those…lake-mapping-whatever guys up in Mich—"

"I thought we agreed _never_ to bring that up!"

Steve cleared his throat before Pete could reply. "Look, thanks for your help, but I think my brain has absorbed about as much as it can for the moment. I'm going to take a walk around the Warehouse. Or at least the aisles near here."

"Don't get lost," Pete said.

"Thanks. Oh, do either of you know where Claudia might be?"

Myka frowned. "I think she said something about Madrid Sector at breakfast, although I don't know what she was planning to do so who knows if she'll still be there. You might check with Artie. He'll be up in his office."

"I'll do that. Thanks again, both of you." He shook his head as they resumed their argument behind him. Something about Pete's truck and a crane, he thought, although he couldn't imagine how Lake Michigan was involved. Pete was still the joker that he'd shown himself to be on the folio case, with a habit of going off on random tangents, but it turned out that Myka was a lot less professional than he'd expected when they weren't in the middle of killer-object cases. And when the two of them were together their comments had in-jokes, their arguments had in-jokes, and he was starting to think that their in-jokes had in-jokes. It was kind of impossible for someone new to this place to keep up. Claudia's explanations might not be quite as complete as Myka's, but at least he could follow them. Plus, he was pretty sure that Myka had a photographic memory. She hadn't been anything but polite to him, but there was only so many times he could hear things like, 'Well, that was described in the last paragraph of chapter seven' or 'That was in the listing that ran from pages eighty to eighty-three' without starting to feel a little stupid.

Unfortunately, aside from confirming that Claudia had been headed for Madrid Sector earlier, Artie wasn't much help so with a shake of his head Steve headed down into the Warehouse. He made it to Madrid Sector with only two wrong turns—those backup terminals were lifesavers—but he wasn't quite sure where to go from there so he settled for wandering up and down the aisles at random. "Claudia? Hello? Is anyone here?"

"Over here," a voice called.

He turned the next corner to find her halfway ay up ladder doing something to a small screen front of her. "Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing up there?"

"Swapping out old info cards." She pulled a handful of index cards out of her tool belt and then stuffed them back in before tapping the monitor screen. "Artie's starting to freak a little about normal inventory not getting done since we've all been so busy with the incoming Warehouse 2 stuff so I figured I'd combine that with updating another sector to screens. Of course, I just ran out again which means that I get to request more, and I can already hear his complaints about the budget now." She shook her head. "I mean, seriously, what does he want me to do? Build them out of fishing line and duct tape?" She scrambled down the ladder before he could say anything in reply, jumping the last two rungs. "So what brings you to this corner of the world? Did Artie volunteer you to help me or something?"

"I've been working on the manual some more, and I had a couple questions about this Dark Vault thing. I tried asking Myka, but does she have a photographic memory or something?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I don't. It makes it kind of hard to ask her questions sometimes." Claudia frowned, looking a little confused, and he shook his head. This was a person who 'tweaked' grenades in her bedroom; she probably qualified as a little above average too. "Never mind. Do you mind if I bother you for awhile?"

"Of course not. But do you want to just go see it?"

"What? The Dark Vault?"

"Well, that or I could take you to see Canned Food Aisle, if you'd rather."

He rolled his eyes. "Funny."

"Come on."

He stared at her back for a minute before hurrying to catch up. "Wait, we can just go in? Just like that?"

"Oh, hell no, we aren't going _in_. Even with the extra containment fields up and running, it's not a place you go wandering around in for fun. But you can take a look."

"Artie gave you the password or whatever?" The manual had been very clear on that, that the Dark Vault was one of the places that required extra security clearance to access, but it hadn't been very clear on what kind of extra security was involved.

"Password. That's cute. Left here."

"What do you mean?" he asked as they turned the corner, glancing over to look at her as she came to a halt in front of a metal door with a keypad beside it. "How do you plan to open it you don't have a password?"

He got his answer when she snorted and began tapping quickly on the keypad in front of her. "I stopped needing passwords for things when I was about twelve."

"You're hacking into the Dark Vault in front of me, aren't you?"

"Chill, dude. I hacked the Warehouse from Switzerland in front of Artie once."

That was a really disturbing statement from several perspectives, but he didn't have time to comment before she broke into a grin and stabbed one last button.

"Hah. I win again."

He was tempted to ask how often she did this, but then the door swung open and he found himself staring. The Warehouse…he couldn't say that he was used to it, yet, but the never-ending jumble of random objects on shelves he was at least becoming familiar with. This place looked more like a museum than anything else. A strangely lighted one, granted, since the illumination was all purple, but each object here had its own distinct pedestal or stand and circle of light. "Whoa. _Weird_."

"Hey, no!"

A quick tug on his sleeve halted him.

"What part of 'hell, no, we aren't going in' wasn't clear?"

"Right." He stepped back, putting himself in the doorway rather than the vault itself. "Sorry." He was just a little overwhelmed by the fact that he was staring at a purple museum of killer stuff. At some point, he'd stop getting shocked by the things here, but it obviously wasn't going to be today. "Have you seen any of that stuff in action?"

"Some of it, sure. That big mirror back there is Alice from _Alice in Wonderland_'s prison, and the creepy typewriter sucks the life out of you, and I think that weird stone head thing is the one Pete told me about that turns people in the Manchurian candidate."

A ring interrupted him before he could ask for a little more detail, and Claudia pulled out her cell phone and put it to her ear. "Hey, Pete."

"How do you have reception here?"

She held up a hand, her attention still obviously on Pete. "No, he didn't get lost, he's right here. Uh, no, thanks, I'm good. I packed a couple PB and J for later." She lowered the phone from her ear and looked up at him. "Pete and Myka are about to head back to Leena's for lunch and want to know if you want a ride."

"No, thanks, I'm not really hungry." Before coming here he'd always just grabbed a bowl of cereal for breakfast; the option of eggs and bacon and pancakes every day was still enough of a novelty that he was filling his plate more than he really needed to.

She put the phone back to her ear. "He says 'No, thanks' too." A pause. "All right. Catch you later."

Claudia stuck her phone back in her pocket. "If you want a sandwich, let me know. I always pack extra since Pete and Artie both have the annoying habit of stealing them whenever I put my tool belt down. Do you want to look around any more?"

He glanced into the Dark Vault one last time and then shook his head and stepped back out of the doorway. "How does your cell phone work in here?" he asked again. "I tried and didn't even have reception in the office."

She held out a hand as the door shut. "Let me see your phone."

He handed it over without thinking and then flinched when she gave a sharp pull that somehow popped the thing open.

"Claudia!" Just because it didn't function here didn't mean that he wanted it destroyed.

"Relax." She stared into it for a moment and then snapped the two pieces together and handed it back to him. "Remind me tonight and I'll fix the antenna. The reception still won't be _good_, especially down here, but at least it'll function."

"Do you fix everything around here?"

"Most of it." She shrugged. "Artie will tell you that I destroy as much as I fix, but don't listen to him." She paused. "Hey, as long as you aren't hungry, do you want to help me with inventory? Or would you rather go back to reading?"

"Inventory actually sounds good." He'd done enough reading for a while.

She grinned. "Oh, you'll lose that attitude quick."

"Why? I mean, yeah, I could see it getting old after awhile, but one afternoon isn't bad. There'll be another case coming up soon. Right?" That was how it had worked at the ATF, anyway; there just wasn't much downtime. Even if your team found itself between cases, you were just as likely to find yourself loaned elsewhere for an operation that needed more bodies as to get actual rest. From the way Artie had spoken when he'd arrived, he'd been expecting the same thing here.

"Depends." She shrugged. "I mean, if we get a clear ping, we go. You saw that before. And Artie's always keeping an eye on the news for little stuff that triggers his spidey-sense, and there's monitoring for both unusual event patterns that aren't quite obvious pings as well as known missing artifacts. But you've seen the size of the Warehouse; inventory is sort of the job that never ends. And that's _without_ the Warehouse 2 inflow. It gets tiring pretty quickly."

He shook his head. "Well, for today, what do you need me to do?"

"Come on." She gestured for him to follow and he trailed her through half a dozen turns, stopping when she did. "Take this list," she produced a piece of paper from her tool belt, "and start on this side of the aisle. Read list, read placard, look at shelf, and let me know if anything isn't where it should be. Or if anything extra is on the shelf; you don't want to _know_ how many times Houdini's wallet has turned up where it shouldn't be. And if you've got any more Dark Vault questions or just Warehouse questions or whatever, ask away."


	3. The Hand: A New Case

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

_I thought Claudia and Jinks made a good pair, but it didn't seem like there were enough episodes in the season to develop a friendship as strong as they were supposed to have by the end so I'm writing some filler. I'll try and mark where in the season this stuff is supposed to be happening…it should be vaguely chronological. _

_Standard disclaimers about real life and the amount of writing time I have to split between stories apply._

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><p>* * (Between <em>Trials<em> and _Love Sick_) * *

"Is everything all right?" Leena asked, and Steve twisted to find her standing in the doorway. "I know you got off to a busy start here, but now that you've had a chance settle in, let me know if you notice anything that you'd like changed. I can swap out chairs or curtains or bedding very easily if you'd prefer a different style."

He took another look around and then shook his head. "No, it's great. Really." It felt a little strange to have gone from his own apartment, small as it had been, to just a room-plus-bath, but it wasn't like he needed that much space anyway. Especially since he wasn't doing his own cooking anymore. Even when the two boxes that he'd had shipped arrived—assuming that they ever did; Pete had said something about not holding his breath—he'd still have plenty of room for everything.

"And you're starting to get the hang of things at the Warehouse?"

"I think so." Not that he didn't still have a good two thirds of the manual to finish, but tagging along with Claudia while she'd been doing inventory for the last couple days had helped. He was pretty sure that Artie assigning him to work with either her or one of the others had been more an attempt to keep him from doing something unexpectedly stupid just because he didn't know any better than to provide them with actual assistance, but he couldn't claim that it had been a bad idea. Especially given the wide variety of ways in which Warehouse objects tried to kill people.

"That's good."

She turned to go and he abruptly remembered the one thing he had meant to ask about. "Oh, uh, the lower outlet on the back wall doesn't seem to be working. Sorry, I almost forgot." He gestured back towards the nook where his desk sat. He'd ended up moving his radio from the dresser onto the desk, but with only one of the outlets working, he'd had to run an extension cord around to it. Kind of awkward, and definitely a trip hazard when he wasn't fully awake in the morning. "Is there someone who could take a look at that?"

She smiled. "Of course. I will get that fixed for you."

"Thanks."

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><p>"Steve, could you come up to the office for a minute?"<p>

He craned his head, looking up at the intercom. "Uh, sure I'll be there in just a minute. Myka, where does this one…?"

She set her box down and nodded to the spot beside it, grabbing the clipboard off the shelf. "Over here is fine." She tapped the clipboard lightly, marking something and then, leaning over to read the packing slip as he set it down. "And there was just the one more, right?"

He nodded. "Pete's got it. Although I'm not sure where Pete went." He turned. "I thought he was right behind me."

"Probably stopped to look at something." She shook her head, adjusting her goggles. "He'll be here in a few minutes. I _really_ hope Claudia has the big forklift fixed by the time the next shipment gets here, though."

"How many more shipments are there?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea. I mean, Warehouse 2 was around for almost 300 years. This place isn't even a century old yet, and can you imagine trying to box _it_ up?"

"Good point." Could you box up a blimp?

"Incoming, incoming, beep, beep, beep," Pete called, entering with the last crate in his arms, and Myka nodded towards the exit.

"You'd better go see what Artie wants."

"Right. Thanks."

Half an hour later, and Steve flipped back to the first page of the packet Artie had handed him and refrained from banging his head against the desk mostly by force of will. What had he been saying to Leena last night about starting to get the hang of this place? Yeah, right, and apparently saying so had been some kind of invitation for Artie to give him this thing.

It was insane. More so than the manual, even. And as far as he could tell, the only thing that it was going to accomplish was to make people think that _he_ was insane, which wasn't exactly going to help him snag, bag, or tag anything.

When he went looking, he found Artie hunched over his keyboard looking very dissatisfied at the tune he was picking out, and since Steve had already learned that Artie didn't appreciate being disturbed when he was playing, he headed for Ovoid to see if Myka or Pete could help him out. Right now, he wouldn't even care if Myka referred him to page 896 in the manual or if Pete went off on another well-there-was-this-case-this-time tangent if it meant some better options than this thing.

Both Myka and Pete seemed to have disappeared in the short time that he'd been gone, but Claudia was kneeling in front of a half-unpacked box, her head bobbing in time to whatever was playing on her headphones as she dug through the packing material. Apparently whatever she'd disappeared to do this morning was done. There was no point in trying to yell over her music so he nudged her tennis shoe lightly with his boot to get her attention.

Her head jerked up and then surprise dissolved into a smile of greeting as she pulled off her headphones. "Hey. What's up?"

"Do you smell fudge?"

She froze, hands clamping down on the edge of the box in front of her. "What? Where? Don't move." She took a deep breath and then frowned. "I don't smell anything."

"What?" He shook his head. "No, I don't actually smell fudge, I mean, am I really supposed to ask people that? Artie gave me this list of questions, and…." He shook his head and brandished the sheaf of papers. 'Where were you at ten pm last Wednesday?' was the kind of thing you asked an interrogation. 'Does your gallbladder feel numb?' was not. Hell, he didn't even know what his gallbladder was _supposed_ to feel like, and he couldn't be the only one.

Claudia ignored his question, shoving herself to her feet and scowling up at him. "Damn it, Steve, don't scare me like that!"

"Huh?" Even from behind her goggles, he could see that she was serious, but why she would find a question about fudge scary, he had no idea.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know, I mean, maybe it's just me, but I don't really want to get blown up."

He stared. "Are we having the same conversation?" Usually it was Pete that he had the urge to ask that question of, but….

Her scowl faded a little. "Dude, you just asked me if I smelled fudge. What do you think we're talking about?"

"I have no idea. One minute I'm asking about this list Artie gave me, and then you're freaking out about getting blown up."

She snatched the list out of his hand. "I am not freaking out."

"So you just really hate fudge?"

"Wait, _this_ list?" She shook her head and then looked back up at him. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I did."

"No, you asked if I smelled fudge."

"And we're back to that again."

She sighed and handed the list back. "The last time I smelled fudge where it wasn't supposed to be, Artie and I were almost blown to bits by chameleon mines, okay? It's not really a good way to start a conversation."

"Chameleon mines?" Once again: finally getting the hang of this place? Yeah, _right_.

"They're stealth weaponry developed in a lab for some war somewhere way back when. They act like normal mines, except for the part where they're invisible right up until they blow you up."

"Oh, wonderful." Not. "And this relates to fudge how?"

"That's how you detect them. When they're armed, they smell like fudge, so if you smell fudge where there shouldn't be any..."

"Right. Of course." Silly him, thinking that the smell of fudge would mean fudge. He shook his head. "All right, I'm sorry I started with that, then. But I'm looking at that list, and I really don't see how these questions are going to lead us to any artifacts. To getting myself locked in a rubber room, sure, but not artifacts." He realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that the comment had probably been in poor taste given what she'd told him about being in an institution, but she just shook her head.

"Well, you have to be creative. Pete's pretty good at it."

"I'm sure he is, but I don't have the skills to work 'Do you frequently dream of gophers?' into casual conversation." Was 'skills' even the right word? Whatever; the fact was that he had never, and probably would never, be able to pull off the kind of joker's attitude that let some people get away with that kind of thing. "Look, what are the…I don't know, the top ten most important questions on here?" Fudge was up higher than he'd thought, apparently, but the list went on for a couple pages.

"It's not that easy. I mean, it depends on the case."

"Of course it does."

She grinned, the last traces of her previous irritation disappearing. "Welcome to the Warehouse."

"Thanks so much." He scanned over the first page again and then shook his head. "Come on, it's got to be about time for lunch. I'll give you a ride back to Leena's, and you can tell me more about these chameleon mine things on the way."

She nodded in agreement, and they both left goggles and gloves at the entrance to Ovoid before heading up to the office. Where something was beeping.

"Artie!" Claudia yelled, hurrying towards the computer even as Steve was still trying to pin down the source of the sound.

"We've got a ping?" he yelled back.

"No, but one of my sniffers got a hit." She dropped into the chair. "It looks like we might have eyes on another one of Mr. Guazzo's Hand of Glories. Hands of Glory? Whatever, check it out."

"Wait, hand of what?" Steve leaned over her shoulder.

"Left hand of a hanged man, dried and pickled," Artie said, joining them in front of the computer. "Once upon a time they were thought to have mystical powers. Of course, it's complete nonsense, for the most part; the majority are just gruesome relics. Mr. Guazzo however, did a _lot_ of research for his book."

"What book?"

"The _Compendium Maleficarum_. Francesco Maria Guazzo was an Italian priest who, in the 17th century, compiled information from a wide variety of sources to put together what was thought at the time to be the definitive work on witchcraft. It's mostly just folklore, rumors and superstition, but towards the end he started believing a bit more in what he was writing, and…well, as I said, he did a lot of research. Hands on research, no pun intended."

"And some of these Hands of Glory actually do something?" Steve shook his head. "What? And where is it?"

"This one turned up in an antique shop in Detroit," Claudia said, tapping away at the keyboard. "Assuming I'm right about that being Guazzo's mark anyway; this picture quality is crap. But it'll take me some time to figure out exactly where it's been and what it might do. If anything." She looked up at him. "However, there are three others he made already in the Warehouse. One breaks locks, one knocks people out, and one sets itself on fire. Pretty much randomly, as far as I can tell."

"Useful."

"Yeah. Although it does make inventorying that shelf annoying since I can't set anything down near it."

Artie frowned at the computer for a moment and then dipped his head sharply. "Take your computer and do some digging on the way; I don't want to be surprised by that thing. I'll let you know if I find out anything here." There was a pause, and then, "What are you waiting for? Go. Both of you, shoo, now."

"Cool, we've got a case," Claudia said with a grin. She pushed herself to her feet. "Come on, Jinksy."

Well, he had been thinking that inventory was getting a little old and he'd like to get back out in the field again. He followed her into the umbilical. They'd have to stop at Leena's to pick up gear, anyway. Hopefully Claudia could arrange plane tickets over lunch.

"Try and talk to the owner too, see what he knows about it," Artie called after them. "It could have come from a collection. And don't forget to use the questions I gave you!"

Steve looked down at the half-forgotten papers in his hands and then picked up his pace. If this hand set things on fire too, he knew exactly where he was putting the questions.


	4. The Hand: The Good Guys

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"I call window!"<p>

Steve had no idea which seat was supposed to be his, but the aisle was just fine as far as he was concerned. He took Claudia's bag from her when she slipped it off her shoulder and tossed it into the overhead compartment, along with the gallon-sized canister of purple goo that Claudia had handed him on the way out of the B and B, before dropping down into his seat. He'd had to check his bag—given that his job required him to carry a firearm, it wasn't exactly a choice—and while he wasn't sure why security hadn't forced the issue with the goo as well, at least putting the bags up above gave them a little more legroom. As it was, his knees were almost up against the back of the seat in front of him. "I swear, seats have gotten even smaller since the last time I flew. Couldn't you at least have gotten us into business class or something?"

"This thing only seats five across," Claudia pointed out. "I don't think there is a business class. And anyway, have you not heard Artie whining about our budget? We're lucky he didn't suggest strapping ourselves to the wings."

"There's a pleasant thought." He grinned, lowering his voice so that the people in the seats in front of them wouldn't hear him. "Hey, what about the little planes in the Warehouse?"

"Uh, those would be from Flight 19. Or the majority are, anyway, plus a helicopter from Training Flight 22 and few jets. And there's this little problem with the Bermuda Triangle wanting them back." She paused. "Well, except for the possessed bi-plane. No one wants that."

Her gaze had remained on her hands, untangling the cord between her headphones and mp3 player, and he stared. "Are you serious?"

She looked up, apparently surprised by his disbelief. "Sure. Well, okay, the bi-plane isn't really possessed, but it has this deal where the wings amplify gravity, and when that happens in flight it ends about as well as you'd expect."

"And I'm suddenly sorry that I asked."

It was her turn to grin, but before she could say anything else one of the flight attendants began the pre-flight briefing, and he shifted around, trying to get as comfortable as he could without stretching his legs out into the aisle or repeatedly kicking her. There was no _way_ that these seats had been packed together so tightly before.

He wasn't quite sure why Claudia had called the window seat since she was asleep against the shade twenty minutes after they reached cruising altitude, but at least she'd offered him her headphones before closing her eyes. He didn't recognize a lot of the songs, but she had a surprisingly decent Floyd collection and most of the rest were pretty tolerable. It got him through the flight, and he made a mental note to get her to burn him copies of a few of the ones he hadn't heard before.

The rows ahead of them began to get to their feet as the cabin door opened, and he stood—head ducked, because the overhead bins were really low, too—and tapped her shoulder lightly. "Claudia? Hey, come on. Time to go."

"Mm?" She lifted her head, scrubbing at her eyes. "Wh—Jinksy?" Another blink. "We landed?"

"Yeah. Come on, time to go."

He was pretty sure that she was still half-asleep as she pulled her bag and the goo canister down and followed him off the plane, but by the time they reached the baggage carousels she was looking a little more alert.

"The rental car stations are over there," he said with a nod in the general direction of the stands. "It's the middle of the week so they should have something available even on short notice."

"Doesn't matter, we've got one reserved." She opened the front pocket of her bag and dug out a couple papers, handing them to him. "Here. You're going to have to sign for it."

"Why me?"

"Because I'm twenty, and rental car companies really don't like renting to twenty-year olds. I mean, I do have ID that says otherwise if you'd rather I used that, but—"

"I'll get the car," he interrupted. He didn't remember offhand what kind of charges applied to helping someone using fake ID, at least when alcohol wasn't involved, and he didn't really want to find out.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

His bag was one of the first out when the belt started moving, a minor miracle, and he grabbed it, checked the lock automatically, and turned. "We'll need to get a room somewhere for tonight too, unless you've already taken care of that also. Chances are that this antique place will be closed by the time we get there."

"I did. The hotel is a couple miles from the shop. I can run my searches from there, and we can go tomorrow morning."

He shook his head. "You know, you've got this better organized than a couple of the ATF operations that I've been on." Especially considering that she'd done all of it during the twenty minutes that they'd been at Leena's for lunch. As it was, he was pretty sure that _he'd_ forgotten his toothbrush. Of course, if he'd thought about the time change and the fact that they probably couldn't make it here before the store closed no matter how soon they got on a plane, they might not have had to hurry so much, but….

Claudia shrugged, drawing his attention back to her. "I'm used to taking care of stuff. And I've been partnered with Pete, Artie, or both of them for the last couple months, remember? If I'd left things up to Pete, we'd have ended up sleeping on park benches half the time, and when Artie sets things up there's a fifty-fifty chance that the motel he picks won't even have wi-fi."

"Those still exist?"

"Apparently. It was news to me too, but somehow he finds them." She shrugged again. "It's easier if I just take care of things myself."

Steve shook his head, stepping up to the rental desk when the clerk gestured towards him. There was no trouble picking up the car, although the sharp look the man at the desk gave Claudia and his very clear statement that their rental cars could not be driven by 'unauthorized or underage drivers' was enough to make her scowl and him grin.

"It's not funny," she muttered as they headed out into the parking lot.

"I thought it was. It's okay; you still get to be the senior agent."

She rolled her eyes. "You're hilarious. I'm never living that down, am I?"

"Not a chance." He reloaded his gun and put his holster back on while she checked in with Artie, and then they were on the road. Unfortunately, the sign obscuring the window of the antique shop door—frankly it looked more like a thrift shop to him, but what did he know?—read 'Closed' by the time they reached it.

"Well, let's at least check it out," she said. "There's a parking spot over there."

None of the shops in the area looked to be in the best of repair, and he skirted a large pothole in the sidewalk automatically as they approached. "I don't suppose this Hand will be front and center on display?"

"You never know." She put her face close to the large glass window a few feet past the door, using her hand to shield her eyes from glare.

"Can you see it?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the street.

"No. It's dark, and there are a lot of shelves in there." She tilted her head slightly and then took a few steps sideways before peering in again. "I can't see any security feeds that I can hack into either." She stepped back. "Oh, well. It'll be open tomorrow at…nine…so I guess we can come back then." She looked around for a minute. "What do you think about finding food before we hit the hotel? I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry, and all I've got on me is a couple granola bars."

"I saw a Thai place a couple blocks back."

"That works."

* * *

><p>He had forgotten his toothbrush. Damn it. Well, he'd seen a convenience store a couple blocks away; he should be able to pick one up there. He pushed his bag back against the mirror and headed out of the bathroom. "Hey, Claudia, I need to make a run down to the store. Do you need anything as long as I'm going?"<p>

"Hm?" She looked up from where she was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her computer in her lap. "Nah, I'm good."

"All right." He grabbed his jacket and the room keycard from the bedside table. "Back in a few."

It took longer than it should have to find a toothbrush since the convenience store was out, and the nearest grocery store was a couple miles away, but when he got back Claudia was still staring at the computer screen. If it hadn't been for the sweat suit and wet hair, he wouldn't have believed that she'd moved.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Nothing useful. This guy Thompson has owned the antique shop for like thirty years. I checked his business records, and as far as I can tell, he buys auction lots, mostly estate type stuff, to fill the shelves. The last one of those was like six months ago though. I hacked his bank account to see if he might have picked up—"

"You hacked his bank account?" he interrupted. "You can't do that!"

She looked up with a frown. "Why not? I mean, it's not like it's hard."

He took a deep breath. "It's _illegal_, Claudia. We don't have a warrant. Hell, even if we did have a warrant, there are channels that you have to go through for that kind of thing."

"Uh, Jinksy, I hate to break it to you, but at the Warehouse I am the channel. Well, Artie can do it too, I guess, but I'm better and I don't whine about having to touch the evil that is the computer the whole time I'm doing it, so…." She shrugged. "Besides, there aren't a lot of warrants issued for collecting artifacts."

He was still trying to figure out how to respond to that when she shook her head.

"Pete was right, you really are a boy scout. Look, if it'll make you feel better, I guess you can call Artie and ask him to arrange something. He probably knows someone somewhere who can get us a warrant if it's so important to you. But it's not like anyone's going to find out."

"That's not the point." He'd sworn to _uphold_ the law, not watch his partner tear it apart. "Farnsworth? Please?"

She dug it out of her bag and handed it over before returning her attention to her computer. "Maybe there's some kind of escrow account attached to the shop, or if he's selling for someone else on consignment…."

Artie's face appeared almost immediately when Steve pressed the button. "What happened?" he demanded. "Where's Claudia? Why do you have a toothbrush?"

"Nothing happened. She's right here." Steve tossed his new toothbrush onto the bedside table and tilted the Farnsworth so she was visible, and she raised a hand in greeting before he turned it back. "Breaking at least a couple federal privacy laws."

Artie stared at him.

"I hacked the shop's bank records, " Claudia said, reaching over to pull the Farnsworth out of his hand. "The shop was closed so I figured it was the next best thing."

"Of course, tracking the source of the Hand through the financials," Artie said. "Have you been able to trace it?"

"Not yet. The guy who owns the place wrote a couple big checks—seriously, checks—for auction payments in the last couple years that line up with what I found in the business records, but the most recent one was still six months ago. Other than that, he takes out a few thousand in cash every month, probably for living expenses and smaller purchases, but since it is cash there aren't any records."

"No separate business accounts?"

"Not that I can find." She sighed. "The dude uses withdrawal slips, Artie. _Paper_ withdrawal slips."

"And your poor technophile heart is breaking, I'm sure. If you don't have any new information, what did you call me for?"

"I didn't, Jinksy did. He's kind of freaking out." She handed the Farnsworth back to him.

"I'm not freaking out, I just—could we at least get a _warrant_ for the guy's records?" Steve asked. Artie's response was not what he'd expected. "I mean, these are his bank records we're talking about. There are laws about that sort of thing."

Artie expression became decidedly exasperated. "And what do you suggest that I tell a federal judge in order to get that warrant? That we're looking for a magic hand that might or might not have the ability to kill people?"

Steve shook his head. It wasn't like he couldn't see Artie's point—it was pretty much the same situation that he and Myka and Pete had faced in Denver—but…. "I don't know. Something. We can't—we're federal agents. We're supposed to be the good guys."

"And we are. We—or the two of you, rather—are taking a potentially lethal object off the streets before it has a chance to hurt anyone. Now stop worrying and do your job." The screen went blank, and he stared at it for a moment.

"Seriously, Jinksy, it's not like anyone is ever going to know," Claudia said in the silence that followed.

"That's still not the point. Besides, what happens if you get caught? You could get into a lot of trouble." He shut the Farnsworth and handed it back to her.

"Please, the last time I got caught doing _any_ kind of hacking, I was twelve and stupid. And it's not like I'm doing this to post his information all over the Internet. It'll be fine."

"Just…." He shook his head. "I'm going to go take a shower. If you aren't finding anything in the records, could you please un-hack them before I'm done? The shop opens at nine tomorrow. We can find the Hand and get the information then." In a completely legal manner.

She shrugged. "All right, I guess. But I really hope the guy likes to talk."

* * *

><p>"Okay, that's creepy."<p>

"Yeah." Steve forced himself to remove his hand from his gun as he stared at the tunnel of dolls in front of them. Well, corridor of dolls, anyway, running from the front door into the shop. And all of their smiling plastic heads with their glassy little eyes were staring at him and Claudia in the doorway. "I don't suppose there's another way in?"

"I don't think so."


	5. The Hand:  Good Hunting

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. _

_I got a question about how this is set up. Taken as a whole, it's one continuous story running throughout season three, but some of the individual chapters will be one-shots related directly to episodes, others will be original to themselves, and at least a few will be part of multi-part storylines. I'm not doing separate stories for each, even if they could stand alone, because in the end they should all fit together. If something is directly related to an episode, I'll mention that at the beginning, and for the multi-part sections, I'm trying to make those chapter titles read something like MainTitle: PartTitle so it's easy to tell how they group together. So, for example, this one is The Hand: Good Hunting, which means it goes directly with the other chapters starting with The Hand (A New Case and The Good Guys, so far), and the individual part is called Good Hunting. I hope that clears up any questions._

* * *

><p>There was nothing for it but to move forward into the shop, and Steve realized as he did so that he didn't even know if Claudia was armed. She hadn't checked anything at the airport, but it occurred to him now that he didn't know whether that was because she didn't carry a weapon or because whatever she carried wasn't recognizable <em>as<em> a weapon. He'd checked his Tesla at the same time as his sidearm without thinking about it, but if he hadn't, he didn't know whether it would have occurred to security to object or not. Artie had shot him point blank before he'd even realized that the things were dangerous, after all.

As much as he didn't like the idea of yet another law being broken, he almost hoped that she _was_ armed, however odd the weapon might be. Maybe it was just the staring dolls, but he found the situation more than a little unsettling. Unfortunately, it was a little too late to ask, although if nothing else, she did have the metal canister slung over her shoulder. Even if he didn't think that purple goo in and of itself was much of a defense.

"Do you want to talk to the owner or search for the Hand?" she asked as they finally cleared the doll aisle.

"Search," he said after a moment. "You know better than I do what information you need. I just have to find a severed hand, right?" Okay, it was probably old and gross, too, but a hand was still a hand.

"A severed _left_ hand," she said.

"What, do you expect there to be severed right hands sitting around everywhere just to confuse things?"

That got a roll of her eyes, and then she turned and headed in the direction of the handwritten sign hanging from the ceiling marked 'Checkout Desk'. The actual desk wasn't visible through all the shelves, but presumably the sign was correct, and as she disappeared from sight he headed in the other direction, deeper into the store. It really did seem like more of a thrift shop than anything else. There were a few bookshelves here, some mismatched bedroom furniture there, a glass case full of metal dragon statues….

The tiny side room—more of a walk-in closet, really—full of still more dolls he bypassed without a second thought, and while the ATF agent in him thought that the next alcove, holding racks of old weaponry, including guns, could use a little more scrutiny, he left them alone for the time being and kept moving.

He passed more cases, this time full of glass animals, a nook containing what looked like lawn statues, and then he found a slightly larger room full of random holiday decorations. Oversized Easter eggs in one corner, a shiny blue Christmas tree and enough tinsel to cover a small forest along the back wall, some stuffed turkeys on a high shelf…surely a severed hand would be tucked in among the Halloween decorations.

There were stacks of discarded plastic buckets and random costume accessories, and he dug through them cautiously. The last thing that he wanted to do was grab the thing by accident; hell, that would be true even if it was a non-artifact severed hand. To no avail, though. It was all just the standard plastic Halloween junk that showed up on the shelves of every store in the country for a month per year.

"Any luck?"

He twisted to look back at Claudia. "Not so much. It looked promising at first, but I've been digging around, and…." He shook his head.

She frowned and then pulled a pair of purple gloves out of one of her jacket pockets and handed them to him. "Seriously, Steve, this stuff's not a joke."

"Oh. Right." He should have thought of that himself.

She put on a set of her own and then knelt beside him and began digging through the stacks much more haphazardly than he had been.

"No luck on your end either?" he guessed.

"Not so much." She wrinkled her nose and scowled in obvious imitation of someone. "'I have no idea what 'hand' you're talking about,' 'Can't you see how many valuable objects I have here?' 'It's none of your business where I get my merchandise,' 'Nosey kid,' 'Grr, arg, buy a doll.'" A quick shake of her head as her normal expression returned. "Plus, I'm pretty sure he keeps his inventory in a _file cabinet_. It's like he's Artie's long lost cousin or something. Well, minus the doll thing."

"I have my badge," he said after a minute. "I can try that."

"Right, because I'm sure ATF agents go hunting severed hands all the time. The idea is to keep him from asking questions, remember? We just want to buy the thing and get gone."

It was his turn to shake his head. "I remember, but you don't want to know what black market weapons' dealers will do when it comes to eliminating competition. A severed hand would not be the worst thing that I've ever come across. Or, for that matter, gone looking for."

She paused in her search, looking over at him. "That's kind of gross."

"It's very gross." He rocked back on his heels. "But I don't think the Hand is here. Where did that online picture you found come from, anyway? Maybe there's something in that that we can use to narrow down the location."

"It was just a look-at-the-creepy-shit-we-found website one of my crawlers caught the image on. The tag had this place—this shop, anyway—marked as the location, dated a couple days ago. And like I said before, the picture quality was pretty lousy. Even the Hand was out of focus enough that I won't be able to confirm that it is what we think it is until I see it for myself. No way in hell I can make out anything around it."

"Can't you enhance one of the edges or something?"

"Dude, you've got to stop believing what you see on TV. If the image quality was decent I could do some manipulation, sharpen things up or whatever, but when I've only got a couple dozen pixels to work with, it's just not happening. No matter what the nice supposed-to-be tech guy on _Law and Order_ says."

He sighed. "If it was just on a random website, there's no guarantee that it hasn't been sold, either."

"Nope. The pic was still up last night, but that doesn't mean much." She pushed herself to her feet. "However, if it did sell, there should be a record, and there are about a gazillion other places to check so we might not even need to go there."

He shook his head but couldn't exactly dispute her assessment, standing as well. "You take the center shelves, and I'll keep working my way through the little alcoves lining the walls?"

"Sounds good. Yell if you see anything."

"Look out for more dolls," he warned. "I found another room of them."

"Great. What do people do with dolls, anyway? Just sit them on shelves and let them stare? It's weird."

"I guess collectors like them. Well, and little girls." He paused, frowning, as her words sunk in. "Did you never play with dolls?" They hadn't exactly been on his Christmas lists, but Olivia had had at least half-a-dozen. When they were little and she'd badgered him into playing 'school' with her, they'd always been dragged into it as his classmates.

She shrugged. "I don't think so. Not that I can remember, anyway." She turned, heading back out into the aisles. "Good hunting."

"You too." He sighed and leaned down, doing one last cursory search of the Halloween decorations and the St. Patrick's and Fourth of July piles on either side before heading for the next room. Alcove. Whatever; there were a lot of jewelry cases in this one, and not that he was an expert or anything, but most of it looked like cheap costume stuff so he wasn't quite sure what the point was in locking it all up.

Old clothes, more old clothes, books, brass lamps, mirrors, wicker lawn furniture, plastic lawn furniture…. He made his way around the store, checking each side room in turn—albeit very cursory checks of the ones where obvious that they didn't contain anything even vaguely hand-looking—until he made it back to the first wall. And still nothing. He just hoped that Claudia was having more luck. Wherever she was in this mess. He turned, trying to figure out the best way to track her down, but even the glass shelves were too crowded for him to see through, and although he could just barely see over the tops, she was too short to be visible.

"How does this guy stay in business? Half this stuff is total crap."

Steve clamped down on his start of surprised, glancing down to find her at his elbow. "Where did you come from?"

"Depends who you ask. Hell comes up a lot."

Completely true—she hadn't even blinked when she'd said it—and he found himself grinning.

She grinned in return and then shook her head. "I figured that if I just walked around the edge I'd eventually run into you. But I take it that you haven't found it either?"

"Not so much. Although if you happen to need a clock, there's a whole room full of them just back there." He shook his head. "I'm going to go talk to the owner. If nothing else, I'd like to see the registrations for a couple guns I saw," he added before she could say anything. "That _is_ a perfectly legitimate reason for an ATF agent to be asking questions."

She nodded. "I'll keep digging around while you talk to him, I guess. If you notice a computer, let me know. I didn't see one while I was talking to him, but I'm really hoping that it was just tucked out of sight."

"Why?"

"Because I wasn't kidding when I mentioned a file cabinet, and I can't exactly hack one of those. I am pretty good at picking locks, but that involves a distraction or breaking in after hours, and that would be a pain."

"Not to mention illegal." He shook his head before she could say anything. "I'll just go try and find out his source and hopefully the current location of the Hand, okay? Don't break any laws before I get back."

* * *

><p>"I just can't see how it's any of your business where I acquire my inventory," the man continued in the same peevish tone. "You or anyone else at the ATF."<p>

Steve tried to think of some plausible reason—hell, _any_ reason—that the man should accede to his request for business records, but he was drawing a total blank. He didn't have any kind of warrant, the paperwork on the guns in the shop had been completely in order, all of them certified antique and inoperable, there was no reason to suppose that wherever he'd gotten the Hand had sold him any kind of weapon at all…. It wasn't even that the guy was lying to him about anything, he just didn't want to show him any documentation. And he was perfectly within his rights to refuse.

"And what is she doing back there?" the man exploded suddenly. "Kids these days, always poking their noses in where they don't belong! Excuse me."

He stepped out from behind the desk and headed back into the shop, and Steve frowned and leaned over the counter to find a small closed-circuit television hooked into the desk. Claudia would probably be glad to hear about it since she might be able to hijack it in their search for the Hand, but if the grainy image was anything to go by, Claudia was also the target of the man's ire, and Steve pushed himself away from the desk and hurried deeper into the shop after him. Her getting arrested for being somewhere she shouldn't be wouldn't help anything. Although the hallway that camera had showed her walking down hadn't looked like anywhere he'd seen thus far so maybe she'd found them a lead.

For an older man, the shop owner moved surprisingly quickly, and Steve almost missed it as he stepped between two of the mirrors on one side of the mirror alcove and promptly disappeared from sight. It wasn't until he was directly in front of the two floor-length mirrors that Steve realized that their placement had concealed a narrow hall, and with a frown, he headed down it. It made sense that the shop had to have a restroom and probably an unloading dock or something of that sort—if nothing else, a back exit was required to meet fire codes—and even if this was an alcove that obviously hadn't held the hand, it was kind of embarrassing that he hadn't noticed the hall before.

The man was already turning into a room off the corridor, and he hurried to catch up.

"—o you think you're doing? Put that down right now," the man demanded as he stepped into the doorway.

Claudia held up her hands, what appeared to be a withered hand lying on a table in front of her with the metal canister sitting beside it. "Relax, I'm not stealing anything. I'd just like to buy this."

"Well, you can't," he snapped. "You're as bad as those kids last week, poking their noses and their cameras in where they had no business being. These are _my_ things."

"I'm sorry, sir, but we really need to take that with us," Steve cut in, drawing the man's attention to him. The fact that Claudia looked like she was getting ready to dunk it was a pretty good indication that the object in front of her was what they'd come for. "Of course, we'll be more than happy to reimburse you for it in full if you'll just show us the receipt from whoever sold it to you," he added after a moment. That was a legitimate reason for them to get a previous owner, at least.

Claudia grinned at his words, but before either of them could say anything else, the man spun away from Steve and snatched the hand up off the table.


	6. The Hand:  Side Effects

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>Shit. Steve's hand dropped to his gun, unsnapping the catch that held it in the holster, but he and Claudia were <em>not<em> in good positions. Mr. Thompson was standing almost directly between them, and as close together as they all were, there was no way that he could take a shot without putting her at risk.

"This is mine," the man snapped, and as hard as Steve tried to tell himself that he was imagining things, he would swear that he could see something white sparking across the fingertips of the Hand.

"Sir, please, put that down," he tried.

"It's mine," he repeated, twisting back towards Steve. "I don't know why you two are so interested, but—"

"Dude, it's a severed hand," Claudia cut in. "Do you know the kind of bacteria that that kind of thing contains? You're probably giving yourself the plague as we speak."

Steve made a mental note to mention to her that there were more appropriate ways to address people—especially older people in tense situations—than 'dude,' but the bacteria thing was actually a pretty good angle to work from. Certainly better than 'We want to take it away and lock it up because it might catch fire unexpectedly,' anyway.

"That's ridiculous. It's going to be part of my next exhibit. And you people have no business being in my preparation room!"

"Exhibit?" Claudia glanced past Thompson at him, and Steve shook his head. He had no idea what Thompson was talking about, and as long as Thompson's eyes were on Claudia, he no way to verify that anything the man was saying was even true. "Do you work at a museum?" she asked after a minute.

"This is my life's work."

"What is your life's work?" Steve asked, trying to draw Thompson's attention back to him. There was definitely something flashing along those decaying fingertips and if it...did…something, he'd rather that it hit him than Claudia. If nothing else because she'd probably have a better idea about how to deal with it. 'Better' in this case meaning _any_ idea how to deal with it.

"I've spent years putting together my exhibits here for people to come and enjoy, and you just think you can come in and buy part of my newest show!"

He gestured around the room, and Steve frowned as he identified random objects from what were probably supposed to be naval history. A chunk of driftwood with something painted on it, a wheel, half-a-dozen paintings—including one of several men hanging from a gallows front and center on a beach—a few thin swords, a shelf of shells and beads and souvenir-type stuff….

"I've decided to replace one of my local exhibits and everything."

He was entirely serious. He considered this shop his private museum. Steve wasn't quite sure what an appropriate response was, but—

"Uh, maybe I'm missing something, but isn't this a junk shop?"

That obviously wasn't it. Thompson's face got even redder and he spun back towards her, and Steve sucked in his breath as the Hand flashed entirely white and she began to shiver suddenly. "Claudia?"

She didn't respond, and Thompson seemed frozen in place, so Steve released his gun and stepped forward, pulling the Hand out of Thompson's grasp. He was still wearing purple gloves, and the canister was already open…if he was lucky, dunking the thing would end whatever badness was happening.

He barely had time to register the disgusting, rubbery texture before it twisted out of his grip seemingly of its own volition and wrapped itself around his throat, and his fingers scrabbled to pull it off even as surprise sent him reeling backwards into the counter behind him.

"Steve!"

It was a relief to hear Claudia's voice, but lack of oxygen prevented him from responding, and he continued trying to pry the unyielding fingers from his throat as white flashes began to appear at the edges of his vision.

"Don't swallow!"

A wave of goo hit him in the face before he could even process the words, and the Hand fell away in a shower of purple sparks. He gasped, taking in mouthfuls of air. Something slimy and disgusting slid down his throat as his breathing finally began to even out again, and he grimaced as he tried to clear his mouth, wishing that he had a tissue or something to spit into. He looked around. The utility sink at the end of the counter would have to do.

"Are you okay?" Claudia asked as he concentrated on clearing his mouth enough to speak.

He turned back around. "What is it with artifacts trying to _suffocate_ me?"

"Bad luck? If it makes you feel any better, I almost spontaneously combusted once."

"No, it really doesn't." He swiped at his eyes with the side of his shirtsleeve—about the only non-gooey part—trying to clear them of liquid. You…purple-stuffed…me."

"Neutralized, yeah," she agreed. "What, would you have preferred that I let that thing strangle you? I mean, nice job getting it away from him, but if you couldn't pull it off your throat, I kind of doubt that I could have." She set the now empty canister down and hugged herself, rubbing her arms quickly. "You did hear me though, right? You didn't swallow any of it?"

He winced. "I might have. A little. I kind of needed oxygen, and most of it hit me in the face so there wasn't a lot I could do." He paused. "Why? How poisonous is it? Should I be calling an ambulance?" Was it already too late for an ambulance?

"No. No, I...I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Lie. What's it going to do to me?"

She rocked her hand and then shivered again and wrapped her arms back around herself. "Well, from what Artie's said, swallowing neutralizer has been known to cause hallucinations. But for what it's worth, he's never said anything about it killing anyone."

That wasn't exactly the most encouraging thing that he'd ever heard, but it was too late to worry about it now. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Cold. One of the other Hands in the Warehouse burns things, I'm guessing this one freezes things. But it's been neutralized, so it shouldn't cause any more trouble."

"Except that you're still shivering."

"I get cold easy anyway, and it kind of felt like my bones were _ice_ for a few minutes. I'm thinking it might take a little while to feel normal again."

She was the expert, he decided after a minute, and it wasn't like he had any suggestions that might help her since the Hand had already been neutralized. "So what do we do about it?" He gestured at the Hand, now lying dormant on the floor. "Can we maybe scoop up some of the goo into the canister with it? Enough to get it back to the Warehouse without it causing any more trouble?" How they were supposed to get a severed hand through airport security he had no idea, but...

She frowned and then shivered again. "I'll be right back. Don't touch it. Don't let him touch it. And I don't like the look of those heads back there, so can you please not touch them until I can dunk them too?"

He turned, starting as he realized that the shelf behind him held a line of shrunken heads. Or what looked like shrunken heads…if he was really, _really_ lucky they were all reproductions. "Trust me, the thought never crossed my mind." He was just glad that he'd bumped into the counter rather than the shelf.

"Good."

"What just happened?" Thompson demanded as she hurried out of the room.

"I…." Steve shook his head. He didn't even know how to begin to explain. "I'm sorry, but we are going have to take that part of your…exhibit…with us." Given its obvious murderous tendencies. "And I will need to see the receipt for where you got it."

"But I saw…." He trailed off, frowning. "That thing tried to strangle you! Just—all by itself! It jumped! How is that even possible?"

"I have no idea." Steve shook his head again, leaning back against a countertop and being careful to keep his head clear of the shelf above. "So, uh, do you smell fudge?"

Mr. Thompson was still staring at him when Claudia returned, now wearing a sweatshirt under her jacket and carrying a plastic sheet similar to the one that Steve had seen her using in her room her a few days ago. She tossed it over the Hand and then rolled the whole thing up quickly, stuffing it into the now-empty goo canister. And then she waved him aside and swept all of the heads on the shelf behind him down into the purple puddle on the floor, ignoring Mr. Thomson's half-articulated protest. Nothing sparked, and she winced. "Oops. Guess not. Apparently they're just normal creepy."

'Normal creepy' or not, the things deserved to be purple-gooed just on principle in Steve's opinion, but…. "Uh, Claudia?"

"Hm?"

He blinked hard. Nope, they were still there. "You don't normally have horns, right?"

"Not so much." She slapped the top on the canister and slung the strap over her shoulder. "The hallucinations set in that fast? Well, I don't care what the rental car agreement says; _I'm_ driving us back to the hotel."

Now that he thought about it, he was quite sure that her hair wasn't actually made of snakes, either. There might possibly be some purple involved—he couldn't remember offhand what color the stripe had been this morning—but the snakes were definitely wrong. "Good idea. After we find out where that thing came from." He turned back to the shop owner. "Mr. Thompson, that receipt, if you wouldn't mind?"

"I'll…." He shook his head and then turned and walked back into the hallway, heading towards the store proper. "Of course. I got it in one of the lots in an auction I attended several months ago. There were four storage lockers attached, and I just finished going through the last of them a few weeks ago." He shrugged. "Not as young as I used to be."

"Storage lot and locker number?" she asked.

"In my files."

"I think I'm going to go wait in the car," Steve said, as one of the reflections in the mirror winked at him as he passed. "Do you want me to take the Hand?"

She nodded, handing it over the canister. "Thanks."

He looked at Thompson, still mumbling to himself as he walked ahead of them. "You'll be okay?"

"With the creeped out old dude?" She nodded again and then winced as yet another shiver wracked her frame. "I'll be fine. I'll be out in a few minutes."

* * *

><p>There was not an octopus attached to the hotel phone. He was well aware of that fact. Still, it was kind of interesting to watch, and since Claudia was curled up around her laptop in the middle of her bed, blankets pulled completely over her—even he knew that that was bad for a laptop, but the only response to his question had been a muttered 'I'm still cold'—he didn't have much to do.<p>

He'd informed Artie of the situation and then run through the available television channels when they'd first arrived back at the hotel…_Ghostbusters_ was playing now, but the hallucinations kept adding extra ghosts to the scenes and it was getting annoying.

"Isn't this supposed to be a cartoon?" the lump on the other bed asked, and he realized that she'd stuck her head out to look at the television when the music had started playing.

"You've never seen _Ghostbusters_? Man, you really are a kid." Okay, yeah, he'd barely been around when the first movie had come out, and he'd still been too young to go see the second in theaters, but at least he knew that the movies existed.

The lump shifted, and she stuck her head out from under the blankets again long enough to scowl at him. With three eyes. He wondered idly if he could read a lie in all three eyes, or if only the normal ones would work.

"That's a good look for you." She tilted her head, and he waved it off. "Are you feeling any better?"

She nodded. "Yeah, a little. I'm not shivering randomly every couple minutes any more, at least."

"That's something."

"How about you?"

"Still seeing things that I know aren't there, but Artie did say that it would take something like eight to twelve hours to clear my system. Any luck on your search?"

"Not a lot." She reached back, dragging the computer out beside her. "I mean, Mr. Thompson's receipt had the storage lot information, and I was able to pull the previous owner from Wilkes Holding Lot's records—a guy named Brian Mitchell—but he inherited it from someone, and I might be a genius, but I have no idea what these property transfer records actually say. And the records from Wilkes Holding Lot don't go back far enough for me to get the owner before him. Plus, Mr. Mitchell didn't leave a forwarding address or anything else when he stopped paying a year or so ago which means it'll take me awhile to track him down if we need to ask him."

"What do you mean?" He wasn't even going to ask how she got access to property records from their hotel room; there was no way that he was going to get an answer that made him happy.

"Well, Brian's not exactly an uncommon name, and Mitchell isn't that unusual either. I can do it, but it'll take awhile."

"No, sorry, I meant what were you saying about the property transfer records? What's wrong with them?"

"All these legal terms…." She shook her head. "I'd think there must be real names in the documentation _somewhere_, but if there are, they're well hidden."

"What legal terms?"

"Um, 'party in the first' comes up a lot, and there's a few pages about 'devising' which doesn't seem to have anything to do with the definition that I'm accustomed to, an awful lot of references to trusting receiverships or receiving trusterships or something like that—I've got no clue what either would mean—something about seconds…."

He grinned and shook his head. "The party in the first will either be the guy who wrote the will or the guy who's supposed to carry it out—that one's more likely to be called the executor, but some documents phrase it differently—and the rest is probably just talking about how to divide up property and where the taxes are supposed to come from and that kind of thing."

She frowned at the computer screen again. "Are you sure?"

"Trust me, my mom passed away while some of my dad's life insurance stuff was still making its way through the courts and I got the whole mess dumped on me to deal with. They'd made a will way back when, but I think the last time that they updated it was just about the time that I was born so I got _really_ good at interpreting the paperwork coming out of probate court."

"Oh. Okay." She looked up from the computer screen. "I'm sorry about your parents."

"Don't worry about it." He shook his head. "I mean, thanks, but we really weren't that close." He gestured at the computer. "Can I take a look?"

"Knock yourself out."

She didn't retreated back into the blanket cocoon as he took the computer and sat down on the edge of her bed, even if she did pull the comforter up to her shoulders as she leaned back against the headboard, and he decided that that combined with the lack of tremors was a good sign. The heater was already up as high as he could convince it to go—high enough that he was overly warm in just jeans and a t-shirt—but even with blankets that hadn't been enough to stop the shivering before. Hopefully she was right about the effects wearing off. Now if only that third eye of hers would go away and the comforter didn't appear to be starting to sprout wings, they could both say that they were on the road to recovery.

With a shake of his head, he turned his attention to the computer, reading through the document sitting open quickly. The last thing he wanted was the text transforming itself into something absurd before he got through it. It was a bad scan of hardcopy paperwork to start with—angled, and the last line and a half of each page was missing—but eventually he did find what he was looking for, and fortunately, the printed names were readable enough. "Okay, I think Brian Mitchell inherited the storage container from his grandfather eight or nine years ago. Well, grandfather or great uncle, there are four inheritors and I'm not totally sure what each of their relationships to the deceased was. But Brian is definitely the one that got the storage container at the address you're looking at. It wasn't called Wilkes Holding Lot back then, though."

"I don't really care what it was called as long as it's the same place. Although I guess that explains why I couldn't find any older records." She shifted, craning her neck to look at the screen. "Is there a name for the grandfather or great uncle or whatever?"

"Yes. Erik Eriksson." Talk about cruel.

"Erik Eriksson?" she repeated. "Wow, I bet school was fun for him. But I know I saw a date of death, and with a name and date I can actually do something useful." She grinned as she looked up at him, holding out her arms for the computer. "Believe it or not, it'll even be mostly legal."

"Will wonders never cease?"

_Ghostbusters_ was just finishing when she stretched her arms and put the laptop aside, and he glanced over.

"Any luck?"

"Depends on which kind of luck you mean. Erik Eriksson first rented a storage locker twenty-ish years ago when his wife died, but even when I search records from before then, there's nothing mentioning mysterious strangulations or freezings or anything like that anywhere that he lived. Which doesn't mean that nothing like that ever happened, but twenty-plus year old records aren't always electronic which makes life difficult. I did find out that he was in the Marines and stationed over in Europe during World War II, though, so my best guess is that he picked the Hand up there as some kind of souvenir. Unfortunately, pre-World War II records are _definitely_ not computerized, so again I'm kind of stuck."

"It's kind of a gross souvenir," he couldn't help pointing out.

"Better than a shrunken head. A little, anyway."

"I'm not really sure that there's a 'better' choice there." He sighed. "So basically we've got nothing."

"Aside from the fact that it's definitely one of Guazzo's Hands and that it freezes and apparently tries to strangle people, not so much. Sorry."

"Well, it's not like I've got anything to add." Hell, she'd been the one to figure out that much. "I still don't even have a good idea about how to get the thing through airport security. Artie seemed kind of paranoid when I suggested shipping it." If one redefined 'paranoid' as immediate and bizarrely vehement refusal to do any such thing, anyway.

"Yeah, well, there was this whole mess with a camera and a lost projector and a nuclear bomb, and it's one thing with the Warehouse 2 stuff—those are pretty big shipments to lose—but I think it'll be awhile before he's okay risking it with single artifacts."

"Nuclear bomb?" Steve had to ask. "You don't have a nuclear bomb in the Warehouse, right?"

"What? No. Or I don't think so, anyway. I guess we might." She shook her head. "But this one came from a movie, and the mad scientist had this killer robot that stole Pete and Myka's guns, and it was going to wipe out Univille, and..." She shook her head again. "It's a long story."

"If we aren't flying out until at least tomorrow—" and there was no way that he wanted to get on a plane before then since flying while hallucinating sounded like a really bad idea—"we've got time."

"Okay, that's true. But don't worry about airport security, I've already put together the paperwork to get it through as part of a delivery for a museum exhibit. We'll have to find a Kinko's to print the documentation, but it'll mean we can keep it with us as a carry-on without answering too many questions. You can thank Mr. Thompson for the inspiration."

"Great. Forgery, such an underrated skill."

She grinned. "It is, isn't it? Although actually I just grabbed one of the Smithsonian's work-transportation forms and made a few modifications. It's faster that way, and they already look so official."

"What did you do before you came to the Warehouse, exactly? International jewel theft?"

She grinned. "No, I thought I'd save that for if the Warehouse thing doesn't work out."

"And I almost believe you." He shook his head. "Look, I don't know about you, but I could use some food. And since I doubt you want to leave your blankets, and I probably shouldn't be around any crowds right now, do you want to just order in a pizza and you can tell me about this nuclear bomb thing while we eat? Maybe when we get back to the Warehouse Artie will have found more information on this Hand in his records."

"Okay," she said after a moment. "But no pineapple."

"What? On the pizza? That's gross."

"No joke, but Myka likes it."

"No pineapple," he agreed with a nod.


	7. Bronzed

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

_This chapter takes place across the episode _Love Sick_ and includes some of the dialogue and references to scenes from that episode. If you recognize something, it's probably not mine. Also, I've taken a few liberties with what happens when a person is bronzed/unbronzed since they didn't give a whole lot of information in the show._

* * *

><p>* * (pre <em>Love Sick<em>) * *

"—even _see_ it?"

"For the tenth time, yes, I saw it," Steve shot back. "And then I saw the replay. And then the _slow-motion_ replay. And then I caught the commentary on the news this morning too. The call was good."

"You are totally—hey, Claudia, how long were those hallucinations supposed to last, again?" Pete asked. "Because it's been two days since you got back, and your partner is still seeing things."

"Are you two still arguing about last night?" she asked, pushing aside the remains of an empty crate so she could get into the room. "I mean, seriously, it's a _game_. Who cares?"

"Sacrilege," Pete said with a shake of his head. "Total sacrilege. You two deserve each other."

"What's up, Claudia?" Steve asked.

"Well, I think I've got it."

"The plague?"

Claudia stuck her tongue out at Pete—which, after having been stuck listening to his impassioned defense of his losing team since dinner as they broke down the crates from the previous collection of Warehouse Two arrivals, Steve could totally understand—and then held out a square of paper to him.

"Uh, what am I looking at?" he asked.

"An answer to why that Hand we found tried to strangle you. This is the short version of the report on the first one that was brought back to the Warehouse, the one that unlocks things. Apparently when they're engaged like ours was when Mr. Thompson tried to freeze me, and someone breaks the connection like you did when you took it from him, there's a defensive response that involves trying to kill the perceived attacker." She made a face. "The card was in the wrong place in the file cabinet, which is why Artie didn't find it before we went. _Totally_ why these things should all be in the computer, but from the way Artie acts you'd think that the scanner requires some kind of ritual sacrifice before you can use it."

"It defends itself with strangulation?" he had to ask. That was a pretty concise summary of what the card she'd handed him said—well, minus the line here that said that one of the Warehouse agents who'd retrieved that Hand had ended up in the hospital with a crushed larynx, a fate that he was just as glad to have been spared—but wouldn't escape be a better option?

She shrugged. "Well, it is a hand. Its travel distance is kind of limited, and what are the other options? Repeatedly punching you in the face?"

"Okay, I guess you've got a point," he said after a minute. He wished they'd known about the defense mechanism before they'd gone, but it wasn't as if it would have changed his actions so there wasn't much point in complaining about it. "You've got the new Hand stowed with the others, then?"

"Leena put it right beside the one that sets things on fire in the hopes that they'll cancel each other out. And, of course, I get to add that aisle to my list of things to get screens for."

"But you're going to fix the big forklift, first," Pete said. "Right? Because I'm pretty sure that Artie said something about another shipment arriving within the next couple days, and I really don't want to have to carry another set of crates in here from the loading area by hand."

"Dude, seriously, do you think I have an unlimited supply of free time? My to-do list is like four pages long. And I write small."

"Claudiaaaaaa."

"Wow, you sound like a six year old." She sighed. "Fortunately for you, I am totally cool, and the forklift is next. The idea is to get it done tonight, although if I have to order—or machine—any parts it could take a few days."

"Do you need a hand?" Steve offered.

"Do you know anything about engines?"

"The basics."

"Good enough. Come on."

Pete headed off in another direction, presumably to find Myka or Artie although one could never be sure, and Steve trailed Claudia off to yet another area of the Warehouse that he'd never been in. "Thanks. If I'd had to hear yet another variant on 'we were robbed' I think I might have strangled him."

"Don't thank me yet. Something exploded in that engine."

* * *

><p>"Claudia, no, don't release the catch until I've got the blocks in place!"<p>

"Relax, I can—"

There was the screech of metal-on-metal, and then an echoing crash as the thing slid sideways and hit the ground. And then there was silence.

"Oops," Claudia said after a minute. "Jinksy? You aren't...squished...right?"

"No, I'm fine. Are you?"

"Yeah." Her head appeared over the edge of the frame, a splatter of oil on her face. "Maybe I'll pull it back up and keep it there until you've got the blocks in place."

"Good idea. And you've got…." He gestured vaguely at her face, and she scrubbed the stain off with a grimace.

"I guess it's a good thing that my sweater's already black. And that I didn't get any on my shirt. I'll get that thing pulled back up." A buzzer interrupted them before she'd taken more than two steps towards the control panel, and one hand went to his gun automatically.

"Chill, that's just the general alarm. If something was wrong, it'd be buzzing faster and we'd be hearing Mrs. Fredric making some kind of announcement. Or possibly Artie yelling over the intercom. And by the way, you've got a Tesla for a reason. Bullets flying around in here would end _really_ badly."

"Oh. Right." He drew it, checking the charge quickly. He was finally getting used to the weight, at least, but reaching for the Tesla just wasn't his first instinct. "Should we go check that out?"

"Yeah. This way."

They were closer to the office than he'd realized, and when they entered, they found Pete, Myka, and Artie already there.

"Artie, where are you going in the middle of the night?" Pete was asking as Artie pulled on a jacket.

Artie laughed nervously. "Uh, nowhere. No place." He shifted uncomfortably, and Steve would have known that he was lying even if he hadn't been looking in their direction. "Why?"

Claudia tilted her head. "Is that the coat I got you?"

"This coat? Uh, so what? Yeah."

"Is that a clean shirt?"

"No, it's not."

Probably a lie, but Artie had been looking down so there was no way to know for sure. Pete and Myka moved to circle around behind him, and Steve suspected that whatever Claudia was getting at, they knew, or at least had a guess, as well.

"Did you trim your eyebrows?" Claudia pressed.

"Hm? No."

"What's that smell?"

Pete and Myka made a show of sniffing the air.

"What? I don't—" Artie shook his head. "I don't smell anything."

"Exactly. You primped." Her grin widened. "You're going to see Dr. Vanessa."

"Who's Dr. Vanessa?" Steve had to ask.

"No one," Artie said quickly.

_Definitely_ not true, and one hand went to his temple in reflex. "Oh, wow. I have never had a lie hurt before."

Pete and Myka exchanged glances, and then Myka stepped in front of Artie as he tried to move past. "She is the Warehouse physician."

"And Artie's girly-girlfriend," Pete added, neatly blocking Artie's retreat.

"Uh, yeah."

Artie was obviously getting annoyed, and Steve really hoped that they weren't pushing too far even as his felt his lips twitching at the grin Claudia was giving him. He knew that this team was more flexible than he was accustomed to, but there were limits to how much a person could push his supervisor.

"_Dr_. Calder feels that there is an artifact that may be causing trouble at a hospital in Utah," Artie said, obviously trying for casual and failing miserably as he knocked something off the desk behind him. "And she has asked me, a _colleague_, to consult. And that is it. And now, if you will excuse me." He turned and headed for the door, only to come to a halt as Claudia planted herself in front of him. "Did I not leave enough food in your bowl?"

"I'm coming with you," she informed him.

"Why? No. Why?"

"A hospital, Artie? There will be _blood_. When you faint, someone's going to have to break your fall."

"Oh." Artie actually shuddered slightly at that. "Fine. Fine. All right."

"Is he really…?" Steve asked quietly. Not that getting queasy around blood was all that unusual, but it wasn't something that he'd have expected from Artie.

Myka nodded, keeping her voice equally quiet. "Yeah. A little."

"Are you wearing Spanx?" Pete asked as Artie and Claudia headed into the umbilical.

"Stop looking at me," Artie ordered without looking back.

Myka laughed at that, and Pete looked vaguely offended for a moment. And then, "Hey, Steve, what's with the Tesla?"

"What? Oh." He glanced down at it, still in his hand, and then he shook his head. "I was just telling Claudia that I'm not used to carrying it yet."

"Do you want to do some target practice?" Myka suggested.

"Ooh, target practice, I'm in," Pete said, before Steve could say anything. "If Artie's gone, I'm _definitely_ done filing things for the night."

"Is there a range around here somewhere?" Steve wasn't sure that there _was_ such a thing as a Tesla range, but taking shots at a shelf full of artifacts didn't seem like such a great idea either.

Myka shook her head. "We use a targeting coil. It's down in the Warehouse. Come on."

* * *

><p>* * (post <em>Love Sick<em>) * *

Steve was reaching out to open his door, planning to shut off every light source and go to sleep and hope that this blinding headache would be gone—and that the world would make sense again—by the time he awoke, when it opened for him. It took a moment for his surprise to pass, and then that surprise turned to anger. "What are you doing?" he snapped.

Claudia blinked. "I—"

"You know, I don't care," he interrupted. "Just get out of my room. And _stay_ out of my room. Does the concept of personal space mean _nothing_ to you people?"

"But—"

"_Out_." That was more snarl than snap as he felt his nails dig into his palms, and he would have felt guilty about her almost-imperceptible flinch if she hadn't been _in his room_. Between the fact that he hadn't slept last night—even if he wasn't entirely clear on where all the time had gone—and Pete and Myka's hazing, or whatever it was that they'd done, and this damn headache, he was just not up to dealing with her.

"Okay." She shifted the tool belt slung over her shoulder and then held up her hands. "Okay. I'm going." She stepped past him. "Geez, what died in your cereal?"

Steve bit back a sharp retort, stepping into his room and shutting the door behind him. Firmly. He took a deep breath. Peace. Center. Unclench hands. Claudia hadn't been here when whatever had happened last night or this morning or whenever had happened. It wasn't fair to take his irritation, or his headache, out on her. But she also had _no_ business being in his room. It was bad enough that the door didn't have any useful kind of lock, just the standard interior-can-be-picked-with-a-paperclip type; the least that she could do was respect that it was _his_ and stay the hell out.

The light coming in through the window from the streetlight beside the B and B had never bothered him before, but right now it was making his head throb almost as badly as the random lights on the drive back from the Warehouse had, and he hurriedly pulled the curtains shut. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough, and he didn't bother to do more than kick his shoes off as he downed a couple aspirin from the first aid kit in the bathroom before flinging himself down face first onto his bed. He just needed to sleep. Tomorrow this would all be nothing more than a bad memory.

There was still light shining around the edges of the curtain when he awoke again, and he rolled onto his back and blinked up at the ceiling. The light wasn't from the street, he realized after a moment, it was sunlight. Apparently he'd managed to sleep the night away sprawled out on top of his blankets. He continued staring upwards for a few minutes, long enough to confirm that he had only the lingering remnants of a headache, nothing like what he'd been feeling as he'd fallen asleep. And the light didn't make him want to beat his head against any brick walls anymore either.

A shower and a shave was enough to make him feel human again, and when he got downstairs he found a note on the counter telling him that Leena was shopping and that there were some breakfast leftovers in the fridge if he wanted them. The others were probably at the Warehouse by now, and he stuck the covered plate in the microwave and dropped down at the table.

He was very sure that Pete and Myka had done _something_—most likely something artifact-y—to him, despite what they'd tried to tell him when he'd stumbled out of that weird round chamber too disoriented to read them, but he had no idea what it had been. As long as it never happened again, he figured that he could chalk it up to hazing and get over it, but he'd probably always be curious, and he kind of hated leaving mysteries lying around. And what had happened after that…. He winced and shook his head. He still wasn't thrilled that Claudia had been in his room, but he could have least found out _why_ she'd been in there before biting her head off. Or better yet, asked her to stay out without biting her head off at all.

Leena's food was good even reheated, and he devoured the leftovers quickly and then headed for the Warehouse. Artie was scowling at the computer screen when he arrived, and while he was almost positive that he'd seen Pete and Myka hurrying down the steps into the Warehouse as he'd opened the door from the umbilical, they weren't his primary concern at the moment. "Good morning," he greeted

"Ah, hello," Artie said, looking up, and Steve was a little relived to see his scowl disappear. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much. Thanks."

"What happened? Pete and Myka didn't say very much beyond that you had a nasty headache."

"I have no idea."

Artie shook his head. "I told you not to bother the artifacts. Would it kill _one of you_ to listen to me?"

Steve debated defending himself for a moment and then decided that it wasn't worth it. Especially since he didn't know what had really happened. "Right. Do you know where Claudia is?"

"Finishing repairs on the forklift, I believe."

"Thanks."

"Don't touch anything!" Artie yelled after him as he headed down into the Warehouse.

Steve shook his head and didn't reply. That was one warning that he really didn't need. He retraced his steps and was able to get back to the bay without much difficulty, although the loud sounds of metal striking metal that were clearly audible from some distance away helped.

"Go in!" he could hear Claudia ordering as he approached. "I measured four times, and you damn well fit, so _go_!"

Another series of clangs followed, and he made his way around the side of the machine carefully, waiting until she stopped banging on the object in front of her to speak. "Claudia?"

She spun around, glaring fiercely. "_What_?"

"Are you okay?"

"It won't go."

Judging by the glare that she was giving him, she held him personally responsible for that fact, and he held up his hands as he stepped forward. "What won't go?"

She jabbed at the forklift with her wrench. "I had to pull one of the gears in the lifting mechanism since the crack was too big to patch, but now I can't get the new one into place. Even though I _know_ it fits."

It was pretty obvious which gear she was talking about and where it was supposed to slot in, and he gave it an experimental push. It didn't budge, but it looked like it was only caught on the bottom edge by the smallest amount, so…. "Wrench?"

She handed it over, and he braced a shoulder against the inside of the gear and lifted as hard as he could, slamming the handle of the wrench against the bottom tooth. At first he didn't think it was going to go anywhere, but then there was a creak as the gear rose just the smallest amount, and with another blow the thing slotted neatly into place.

"How'd you do that?" she demanded. "I've been trying for twenty minutes and it wouldn't budge. I thought I was going to have to go dig out a jack or something. And don't ask me what I was going to brace it on because I hadn't figured that part out. It was way easier to break out the old one."

"I'm a little bigger than you."

"Okay, that's a true. Annoying, but true." She shook her head and took back the wrench. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. And, uh, I'm sorry about yesterday. About snapping at you, I mean."

She shrugged, apparently finding something interesting on the floor. "It's okay. I should have thought to ask before I went in."

"What were you doing, anyway?"

"Replacing the back outlet. Leena said you'd been having trouble with it." Another shrug. "I was still kind of wired when Artie and I got back, and I figured I'd check a couple things off the to-do list at the B and B while I had the energy."

"Oh." That explained the tool belt that she'd been carrying. And why she'd been surprised that he was upset. "Sorry," he repeated. "And thanks. That extension cord was a fall waiting to happen."

"It's what I do." She looked back up. "And no worries, really. Most of the time I come and go as I need to when someone wants something fixed, and it didn't occur to me that you're not used to that. If you'd rather, I can ask before I do anything in your room."

"I'd appreciate that. It's nothing against you," he added quickly. "It really isn't, it's just…." Not very zen of him to be that protective of _space_, and he knew it—he'd never had that kind of problem when it came to possessions—but then, he'd never claimed to be perfect.

"It's cool. But as long as we're talking about it, _is_ there anything else that you need fixed? Unless it involves the curtains or the paint job, it'll probably be me doing it anyway."

He grinned slightly. "You weren't kidding about being the one who fixes stuff around here."

"Handyman slash gadget-girl slash-inventory-freaking-expert slash part-time Warehouse agent, at your service. I so hate being bored."

His grin grew. "Fair enough. But no, everything else is fine."

"Are you okay?" she asked after a minute. "You seemed pretty on edge yesterday, and I don't think it was all me. And you looked like crap."

"Thanks so much." Tact was never going to be her strong point. "I feel better now. And you're right, it wasn't just you. Yesterday was weird."

Her eyes narrowed. "Weird how? Did you touch something?"

"I don't think so. It's hard to explain." It didn't even make sense to _him_, and he'd been there.

"Well, thanks to you, the forklift is now at a hundred percent, so I've got a few minutes. If you want."

He opened his mouth to decline automatically and then realized that he kind of did want to talk. And if there was anyone besides the two agents that he was pretty sure had been _responsible_ for what had happened to him who could help him figure out what had been done, it would be her. And it wasn't like she was hard to talk to.

With a slight nod, he looked around and then decided that the floor was as good as they were going to get and sank down to sit on the concrete. She didn't hesitate to join him.

"After you and Artie took off, Pete and Myka and I decided to get in some target practice. We were talking while the targeting coil was charging up, and one of them asked if I had a girlfriend back in Jersey, so I went ahead and told them I was gay. Their reaction wasn't bad at first—well, okay, Pete taking his shirt off was totally unnecessary and I hope he _never_ does it again—but then he knocked something off a shelf, and that's when they started acting really weird. One minute they were right there, then they disappeared, and then when I found them again Myka was blonde and Pete wasn't wearing any shoes."

"Wait, what do you mean, disappeared? Like 'poof' and gone?"

"No, no, they just…ran off. Weird, like I said." Like pretty much everything else that had happened. "Anyway, after I found them and made them put down the artifacts they were playing with—hey, maybe that's why Myka turned blonde—they took me to this room full of statues to show me something. We found Pete's shoes, but when I went to get them, they locked me in this tube thing. And then the next thing I knew they were staring at me like _I_ was the one who'd gone off the deep end. Even though Myka was still blonde. Plus there's like eight hours that I can't account for. I mean, I don't think I fell asleep or anything, it's like time just…stretched out." He rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. I mean, at first I thought it might be some kind of hazing—" either because he was still the new guy or because he'd just told them about being gay—"but—"

"No way," she interrupted. "Not Myka. Even if she did that kind of thing, which she doesn't, she wouldn't play around in the Warehouse. Pete would, but he'd also stop as soon as he saw that you were getting upset."

That was about what he'd have expected of the other two agents given what he'd seen of them since he'd joined the team too, but it didn't help explain what had happened to him. He let his hand drop back to his lap. "I don't know. Maybe I did touch something."

She bit her lip. "The room that they took you to, with the statues, what did the statues look like?"

"Like statues. Of people. Uh, they were metal, probably bronze. Actually I'm pretty sure that Myka did call it the Bronze Sector, now that I think about it."

"And you've got about eight hours of time that you can't really account for, and let me guess, half of your headache was because your eyes were really sensitive to light after you got out."

"More than half," he admitted, even though it didn't really sound like a question. "You know what happened to me, don't you?" Whatever it was, she didn't look very happy about it.

"It sounds like they bronzed you. Which is _not_ cool."

The sense of familiarity was back again, stronger than before as her eyes flashed, but he still couldn't place it. "What do you mean 'bronzed'?"

"They turned you into one of those bronze statues. It's what we do to really bad people—like people who would turn into Hitler—so they can't turn into Hitler. It's _not_ what we do to other Warehouse agents." She shook her head. "I don't know why they'd do something like that, but…."

"Well, I guess now I know." Not that he was thrilled to learn that he'd been turned into a statue, but hey, at least they'd fixed him. And it was good to know that he wasn't crazy. "But how did you know about the light thing? Or is that on page two-thousand-eleventy of the manual and I just haven't gotten to yet."

She grinned and shook her head. "No, HG told me. She's the one who told us about the whole being-aware-while-bronzed thing too, but then we were talking once and she said that the worst thing about being _un_bronzed was the whole reactivation of the optic nerves and that it took awhile for her eyes to readjust and the headache to fade. MacPherson had to take her out of the Warehouse with a blanket over her head just to keep her from passing out from the pain. I'm guessing the amount of time spent bronzed probably affects how bad it is…from what Artie said, he didn't have any trouble, but then he'd only been bronzed for like two minutes."

"Wait, Artie was bronzed?"

"What? No, MacPherson."

"And MacPherson and HG are…?"

"It's a long story." She shook her head. "The short version is that MacPherson was an ex-Warehouse agent—he used to be Artie's partner—who went darkside. _Way_ darkside. He stabbed Artie and then blew him up."

"Blew him up?"

"He got better. And HG is HG Wells. She was a Warehouse agent in Warehouse 12—"

"Wait. HG Wells like the writer? _The Time Machine, War of the Worlds_, that HG Wells?"

"Right."

"Is a she?" That probably shouldn't be his major concern at the moment, but….

"Yeah. It kind of threw us at first too." She shrugged. "I liked her right up until she decided to end the world. But Myka stopped her, and then the Regents took her away somewhere. We don't know where."

"You're serious. About all of this." He didn't really need to ask, not when she'd been looking him in the eye the entire time, but he couldn't help himself.

"Yeah. I should find you some copies of the case files."

"I would appreciate that." Because every time that he thought he'd heard the weirdest thing possible about this place, something else came out of left field.

"One more question about your whole mess yesterday, though. What artifact did Pete knock over that started this whole thing? Because they must have been out of it to bronze you."

"I don't know, some kind of bouncy ball. Well, three of them, actually."

"Bouncy balls?" She shook her head. "What did the screen say?"

"What screen?"

"You know, those annoying electronic things that I spend half my life installing? I know all the aisles around the targeting coil have them so it shouldn't have been hard to check what the artifact does."

"Oh." He felt himself flush. "I didn't think to look."

She sighed. "Genius is never appreciated. All right, bouncy balls near the Targeting coil…juggling balls, maybe?"

"That would make sense," he said after a minute. "Like I said, there were three of them. Myka caught one, Pete caught two, and neither of them were wearing gloves."

"Well, WC Fields' juggling balls make people act drunk. And they are on one of the high shelves in the area."

"Drunk would match how they were acting when I found them," he agreed. "Pete insisted that they weren't, and he wasn't lying, but if it was an artifact that did it he might not have known."

She pushed herself to her feet. "We can check the records to see for sure. Come on, I can walk and talk at the same time. And anyway we need to plot revenge." A pause. "I can make their phones play the Macarena for hours on end if you want."

He felt himself start to grin. "I think you would, too."

"Of course. I told you, bronzing other agents is not cool. Being totally out of it at the time still doesn't make it okay."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, all right? I know what happened now, and at least they weren't themselves when they did it. It's over and done with so I'm okay with forgetting about it unless they bring it up."

"All right," she said after a minute. "I guess it is your call." She glanced up as they turned the corner. "What were you saying earlier about Pete taking his shirt off?"

He shook his head. "We're not talking about that."

She grinned. "Come on, give me _something_."

"Never going to happen. Ever."


	8. Shark Bait: A New Case

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"No. No, no, and no." This was his third restart, and he'd already tried 'enter,' 'escape,' and 'control alt half-a-dozen-other-keys' when the screen first went blank. And still, nothing.<p>

With a sigh, he pressed the power button until it shut down once again. It wasn't like his computer was that old. Okay, yeah, he'd bought it four or five years ago, but he'd always kept it updated and virus-protected and all of that kind of thing. There was no good reason for it to die on him now.

He didn't really need the computer right this minute since his report wasn't due until next week—and if Myka and Pete's comments were anything to go by, anytime within the next month would still be pretty good by Warehouse standards—but he didn't exactly want to leave it sitting around useless, either. He was trying to remember if he'd seen any computer-repair type shops in Univille when it occurred to him that there was a person living just down the hall who, judging by everything else that he'd seen her do, could probably repair a computer in her sleep. He wouldn't be surprised if she considered a four or five year old computer ancient, but he didn't think that she'd mind taking a look at it for him either.

When he stepped into the hall, he found Claudia's door shut, but there was light coming from underneath, and he tapped on the wood lightly.

"Come in," she called.

"Hey," he greeted as he pushed the door open. "Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah, sure." She tapped something on her keyboard and then pushed her computer and a notebook aside as she sat up on her bed. "What's up?"

"I need a favor." He gestured at the computer tucked under his arm. "This thing just up and died. Would you mind taking a look?"

"Sure, no problem." She held out her hands. "Let's see."

He handed it over, taking a seat on the edge of her bed as she flipped it open. And then she looked up at him, her hand hovering over the power button. "Uh, just to make sure, it didn't die because of some crazy porn virus, right?"

It took him a moment to process her words, and then, "_No_. Hell, no." No way would he have handed something like that to her.

She held up her hands. "Okay, chill, I just wanted to check. It's not like I've never cleaned one off before, but it's not cool when I don't have any warning. So what did happen?"

"I don't know. I was typing, and then it just shut off. Or went to a blank screen, anyway. I tried the keys to get to the task manager, but that didn't work, and then I tried restarting, but that didn't do anything either. I mean, it was fine fifteen minutes ago."

"Hm." She pressed the power button, and the cursor mark appeared at the top as he expected. And then the Windows screen popped up and asked for his password.

"What?" He took it back before she could type anything. He hadn't given her his password, but he very much doubted that that would make any difference to her, and he didn't really want to watch her hack into his stuff in front of him. "It wasn't doing that before."

"Did you move it?"

"What? Yeah, I walked down the hall."

"No, I meant just before the screen went blank."

He frowned. "No. Well, I guess I did pull a folder out from under it, I guess, but it only moved a tiny bit. Not anywhere near enough to damage anything."

"Give."

"Why? I mean, if it's working again…."

"Your hard drive might be unseated. If it was already loose, any move might have been enough to break the connection, and picking it up and carrying it here could have shaken it back into place. Did you drop it or bump it hard or anything like that recently?"

Claudia's door flew open before he could say anything. "They're in here!" Pete yelled back down the hallway.

"What the—"

"No time to talk," he interrupted her. "You two have a case." He caught Steve's arm and hauled him up. "Come on, come on, no time to waste. Claude, bring your computer."

"This is _not_ my computer."

Steve suspected that he should be offended by the way that she'd said that, but he was a little more concerned about having his arm dislocated as he was dragged towards the door.

"—quarium is like a zoo with water, and I told before you, Artie, I am _not_ going to any more zoos," Myka was insisting, suddenly in the doorway. Her presence prevented Pete from dragging him through it, Steve supposed, but what she was saying didn't exactly fill him with confidence. She snapped the Farnsworth shut and looked up. "Oh, good, are you two ready to go?"

"Go where?" Claudia asked. "Pete just burst in like three seconds ago. And Pete, let him go. People's arms aren't supposed to bend like that."

"What? Oh, sorry." Pete released his arm and clapped him on the shoulder, and Steve waved it off.

"It's fine. But what are you guys talking about?"

"You've got a new case at the aquarium in Boston," Myka said. "Artie can tell you more."

Steve glanced over at Claudia who shrugged and nodded at his computer. "Do you mind if I fix this when we get back?"

"No problem."

She set it on her bedside table and got to her feet, grabbing her laptop and Farnsworth off her desk and stuffing them into the bag she pulled out of her closet in one smooth move. "Good to go, then."

Steve stared at her for a moment. "It'll take me a few minutes. Do you want to give Artie a call and get the information while I get ready?"

"An excellent idea," Pete said with a grin, snatching her bag from her and slipping around Myka. "I'll just go ahead and take this down to the car."

"Give that back!" Claudia demanded, darting out of the room after him.

"Do you have any more information than 'a new case at the aquarium'?" Steve asked Myka as he headed towards his room.

She shook her head, matching his pace down the hall. "Not much. There have been three people attacked inside the aquarium in the last week and a half. Specifically, they appear to have been bitten. The first two were minor injuries, but the last required stitches, and they found part of a shark tooth embedded in one of his wounds."

"And I'm assuming that he wasn't swimming in a shark tank at the time." Steve grabbed his duffel and tossed in a couple days worth of clothes. "What makes you think that it's a Warehouse case and not just some lunatic running around?" The shark tooth thing was weird, sure, but some kind of stick with shark teeth attached might mimic bite marks. He'd seen weirder weapons.

"Well, I'll admit that lunatic sounds more likely to me, but Artie's the one who picked it out, and he's not usually wrong about this kind of thing."

Artie had been at this the longest, Steve knew; he'd recognize the signs of an artifact if anyone would. Steve packed his bathroom stuff quickly—making sure that he had his toothbrush this time—and tossed it in on top of his clothes before attaching his gun case and heading down the stairs. "Do you mind if I ask what you have against aquariums? You seemed…very insistent…that you wouldn't be the one going."

"Monkeys _spit_."

That was a less than useful answer, even if it was entirely truthful, but he could see Claudia and Pete outside running laps around his car through the window. Claudia was still trying to get her bag back from Pete it looked like, and knowing her, it was only a matter of time before she decided to try climbing over the car. Steve didn't see that ending well for either her or his car so he hurried out to join them, grabbing the bag off Pete's shoulder as he passed and tossing it back to Claudia.

"Be careful!" she yelped as she snatched it out of the air. "But thank you." She twisted to scowl at Pete. "You're mean."

Pete stuck his tongue out at her, apparently unaffected by her words. "Excellent, you're both here. Now, off you go, and have a good trip. And don't get eaten by any sharks."

"Man, they really wanted us gone," Steve said as he tossed his duffel into the back and climbed into the driver's seat. "What's the deal?"

She shook her head. "I think it was more making sure that we were on this case instead of them, but Pete wouldn't give me back my bag so I didn't get a chance to talk to Artie about it."

"Do you just keep a bag packed at all times?" he asked.

"Pretty much, yeah."

Steve grinned slightly, and for a moment he thought about teasing her, but…well, he couldn't exactly claim that he hadn't been a little overeager on the first couple cases he'd been put on after joining the ATF. And while he was technically the new guy here, she hadn't been going out after artifacts for very long either. Besides, he could always bring it up later if—when—she decided to pick on him about something. "You could call him now and maybe save us a trip to the Warehouse," he pointed out.

"That's true." She dug around in her bag and pulled out her Farnsworth, flipping it open. "Hey, Artie."

"Claudia? What—is _someone_ on their way to the airport?" he demanded.

"Claudia and I can be if we don't need to swing by the Warehouse first," Steve said. "What's up?"

"I—" There was a long pause. "Never mind, never mind, the two of you will be fine. Head for the airport, and I'll fill you in on the way. Your flight leaves in an hour and a half, and there are tickets waiting for you at the counter and a hotel room already set up. You'll need to get them reset to your names since I originally got them for Pete and Myka before they decided to be uncooperative. And yes, Claudia, the hotel has internet access."

"I'll believe that when I see it," she muttered. "What's the deal with the artifact?"

"Myka said something about attacks at an aquarium?" Steve added.

"At the New England Aquarium, yes, and there were bite marks on the victim," Artie agreed. "Victims, actually, three of them, with steadily worsening wounds. The first was about a week and a half ago and written off at the museum aid station as a girl catching her finger on a splinter. Although the girl herself insisted that it was no such thing. The second was written off as…well, an unreadable scribble. The third, however, required stitches, and a portion of what the hospital staff thought was a shark tooth was found in the wound. No one saw any of the attacks happen, not even the victims. I'm still reviewing what there is of museum write-ups, and I'll forward them to Claudia along with anything else I can find." A pause. "You two be careful."

She nodded quickly. "We will."

She snapped the Farnsworth shut before Steve could ask anything else, and he glanced over at her. "I still want to know why Myka and Pete were so eager for us to take this case instead of them." It certainly wouldn't be because there'd been attacks; from what he'd seen, they would both prefer to keep Claudia _away_ from anything genuinely dangerous. Then again, a few stitches wasn't exactly a world-ending threat. "I tried asking Myka, but she only told me that monkeys spit."

"Monkeys spit?" Claudia shook her head. "I mean, I'm sure they do, but I have no idea what that has to do with aquariums. And anyway, there haven't been any cases at aquariums since I've been here."

"You're sure? Maybe there was something at a zoo. Myka was complaining about aquariums being zoos with water while Pete was trying to yank my arm out of its socket."

"No, I don't think there have been any zoos either," she said after a minute. "Again, that I know of, but I guess it could have been before I came. I haven't looked at all those case files."

"That could be it." He frowned at her as she pulled out her phone and began to type on the screen quickly. "What are you doing? You don't need to check now. Please don't hack the Warehouse from your phone, I don't need to see that."

"Relax, I'm not. I'm just changing the names on the tickets in the airport computers before we get there. It'll save us arguing about it with whoever's working the desk."

And he suddenly wished that she _was_ hacking the Warehouse because he didn't even want to know what the TSA or the FBI or the CIA or whoever would have to say about that. At least Artie wouldn't do more than roll his eyes and grumble. "You know, I have this strange urge to track the number of felonies that you commit over the course of the average week. Just out of curiosity's sake. It's a good thing that the Warehouse found you."

"Well, technically I found the Warehouse, but I guess you've got a point. I did try Vegas once, but it got boring after the first hour or two."

Steve glanced over at her. "You're serious?"

"Yeah. You get annoyed when I lie."

He shook his head. "Well, at least card counting doesn't go on the felony list." And neither did sneaking into a casino at under twenty-one—be it twenty, nineteen, eighteen, or he didn't even want to know—for that matter. He paused. "Card counting is all you were doing, right?"

It was her turn to grin.

"Never mind, don't answer that. I don't even want to know. Oh, damn." He slowed automatically, preparing to turn off.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't have a tank of goo with you, and I didn't even think to grab one." A stupid oversight on his part; he knew that she'd been concentrating on getting her bag back from Pete when he'd left the B and B. There was just enough time that they should be able to make it back, grab one, and still get to the airport, but they'd be cutting it close when it came to getting through security.

"It's okay, there's one in your trunk."

"There's what? Why is there one in my trunk?" He wasn't going to bother asking how it got there.

"Because you never know when you might need it. There's a couple pairs of gloves too, but I've got more in my bag." She tucked her phone back into her pocket, and he assumed that there were now two appropriately labeled tickets at the counter.

"All right, I guess that works. You really are used to taking care of things."

She shrugged.

"So what do you know about aquariums? I think the last time that I was in one, it was on a field trip for biology class." And he couldn't claim that he'd been paying very close attention since a couple of the kids in his class had been way more of a threat than a few sharks in a tank.

"Well, I know they have fish and sharks and stuff, but I've been to exactly one in my entire life, and that was on my sixth birthday."

"Great. So neither of us know what might be artifact-like there."

"Pretty much. We can probably at least get a map online, though, and Artie will send us whatever he can."

* * *

><p>Claudia regained consciousness as the plane was landing—Steve was starting to suspect that sleep was her default response to plane flight—and they managed to get to the hotel with only a minimum of hassle. Although he wasn't going to drive around in Boston any more than he absolutely had to. At least twice people had started honking at him <em>before<em> the light had turned green.

"So what did Artie send?" he asked as she settled back against the headboard of her bed and opened her computer.

"Well, these are the medical reports from the aquarium staff. Wow, he wasn't kidding about this one being an illegible mess. And I've got statements from the three victims too."

Steve dropped down to sit beside her. "Let's see those."

She twisted the computer so they could both see the documents on the screen. "The first victim was a ten year old girl with an injury to her finger. She's the one they're saying must have caught it on a splinter."

"And she says no way, she was coming out of the Coastal Waters exhibit and something bit her finger," Steve said, reading the same report. There was no picture with the medical report from the first aid station, and judging by the treatment description they'd put antiseptic and a bandage on it and sent her off with her parents.

"The second one was…actually, he was also in the Coastal Waters exhibit," Claudia said. "A thirteen year old with a couple shallow scratches on his arm, and his statement says that something came up behind him and bit him, but he was able to pull away."

Steve squinted at the writing in the first aid station's report. Writing was generally harder to read than printing, anyway, and the fact that every letter here looked like an 'o' didn't help. "I think that says someone from his…does that say group?...might have shoved him into something and that's what caused the scratches. No guesses as to what it might have been, though, and it looks like they bandaged him up and sent him on his way as well. I don't suppose number three was also in the Coastal Waters exhibit when he got bit?"

"You win the Internet. A sixteen year old who was about to leave when it happened. Similar wounds as number two had, but this time deep enough to need stitches. And he had what they think was a piece of a shark tooth in one. This one has a real medical report."

Great, Artie was committing felonies now too. He shook his head as he read the screen. "Six stitches, that's not too bad. I mean, it's not _good_, but it could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah. There's nothing in common between the timing of the attacks—different days, different hours, all of that—and as far as Artie's been able to tell, there's no relationship between any of the victims either. I mean, they were all under eighteen, but one was with a parent while the other two were with school groups, they go to different schools, the second one isn't even from Boston, they aren't related in any way, none of that."

"Well, I guess we're checking out the Coastal Waters exhibit tomorrow then. You want to order pizza and see what we can get for movies?"

* * *

><p>"Claudia, come <em>on<em>," Steve hissed. "We need to check out that exhibit." Today was Friday and it was early enough that there weren't many people around, but when school groups or tourists started arriving—or if they didn't get a good enough look and had to come back tomorrow—there would be much bigger crowds to contend with. And they weren't going to get there if she stopped to look at every single thing that they passed.

She glanced up and then pushed herself away from the tank. "Right. Sorry."

He shook his head. "This way." From the map he'd seen, the Coastal Waters exhibit was actually a twisting tunnel made up of a variety of exhibits from different parts of the United States coastline. A twisting dark tunnel, unfortunately, he found as they entered by 'Alaska,' with a few little side alcoves, and Claudia got a few frowns as she activated the LED on her key chain and they began to scan the walls. He just hoped that no one would object to museum security until they were finished taking a look around. Although…. "Any idea what we're looking _for_?" he asked.

"No, but odds are that someone touched something. I don't know what it would be, though, these walls look pretty obviously man-made. And it's not like you could reach into any of the tanks."

"Not those tanks, maybe but look at that." The tunnel widened slightly, and he gestured at a circular tank in the center with a 'Touch an Alaskan tide pool' sign over it.

"Well, that looks a little more promising." She dug a pair of gloves out of her jacket, but he pulled out his own pair before she could give them to him.

"I remembered this time."

She grinned. "So do we just dig in?"

"It looks like it. Although check out the warning."

"'Be careful, the water is cold.' It's Alaska, was someone expecting something else?"

The water was cold—although still a few degrees warmer than real Alaskan seawater, he suspected—but at least the center tank was illuminated slightly better than the rest of the tunnel, and they dug through the sand quickly. It was too deep for the gloves to keep the water off his hands, but at least they would still protect their hands from the artifact. Nothing sparked, but then, there was no guarantee that it would, and it wasn't like they could dump a pool full of water and sand and shells and rocks and whatever into a gallon of purple goo.

"Okay, my fingers are numb," Claudia said after a few more fruitless minutes. "I vote we move on. At least if we find a Hawaii tank it should be warmer."

There was a Hawaii tank, plus two for the Pacific coast, plus one for the Gulf, and then another two for the Atlantic coast, and he sighed as they began to dig around in the last one. "I don't know, Claudia. I mean, there's nothing else in the tunnel that I can see that it would be, but if we can't get some kind of lead, where do we go from there? Just dumping everything in every tank into the goo isn't really an option."

"No joke. I mean, I guess we could do it by the bagful, but that would take forever and I think someone would probably notice." She shook her head. "But none of the railings I've checked have anything like splinters, though, and while if someone got knocked into one of the walls he might get bruises, it would be pretty hard to get cut."

"Yeah, I noticed that too." He pulled up another handful of sand and rock from the bottom, staring at it for a moment, and then tossed it back into the water and watched the pieces float slowly back down, pushed around as they sunk by the water filtering through the tide pool. Which was probably slightly incorrect, scientifically speaking, but given the number of people who were supposed to be sticking their hands in the water he couldn't really blame the people running the aquarium. He stripped off his gloves as he stepped back, wiping his forearms off as best he could before pulling his sleeves back down.

Claudia did the same a moment later, shaking her head as she stuffed her still-dripping gloves back into her pocket. "I guess we talk to the three people who were attacked, see if any of them remember touching anything in particular."

He glanced around, but the only other people in this part of the exhibit were an older couple staring into one of the side tanks and obviously paying them no attention. "Like a strange colored rock or shell?" He shook his head. "Do you think they'll actually remember anything?" He couldn't remember every rock that he'd touched, and they'd just finished looking.

"Have you got a better idea?"

"Good point." They headed for the last turn, blinking as the dull light of the tunnel gave way to the bright in the rest of the aquarium. "I guess—"

"_Ow!_"


	9. Shark Bait:  Stitches

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. This won't get out of my head, so you get another chapter early. And now I will get back to working on my other stories for a bit._

* * *

><p>"Okay, one more and then it's done," the doctor said cheerfully. "And then I'll get that arm bandaged up, and you two should be good to go. You'll need to leave the bandage on for twenty-four hours and make sure that you keep the stitches covered and dry after that. Put a plastic cover on if you need to take a shower. I know you said that you weren't local, but if you're still here next week, come back and I can confirm that the stitches have dissolved as expected and you won't need further treatment. If you aren't in the area, make an appointment and have your usual doctor do it. You can contact the office to get your records faxed over." She nodded slightly and then put her tools down and stepped back. "Finished. Now, I'll give you a prescription for antibiotic ointment that you'll need to put on twice a day for a week—and by week, I mean the full seven days—and a week's worth of painkillers as well. You did say that you weren't allergic to any medications, correct?"<p>

Claudia shook her head as she turned back towards the doctor. "Not that I know of."

Steve flexed the hand that she'd released when she turned, trying not to be obvious about it. For a skinny kid, she had _strong_ fingers, and while he hadn't thought twice about letting her hold his hand while the doctor put the stitches in, he hadn't been counting on getting a couple of his own fingers almost crushed in the process.

"You don't have to take the painkillers all week if you don't feel like you need them," the doctor continued. "In fact most patients prefer to switch to something like Advil or Tylenol after a few days. But the antibiotic ointment needs to be used as prescribed."

Claudia nodded, and when the doctor glanced up at him, Steve nodded as well. He suspected that the doctor thought that they were dating or something like that, but whatever she thought, it had been enough that he'd been allowed into the examining room with Claudia so he wasn't going to argue.

He hadn't even realized how badly she was bleeding at first, not until the hand she'd clamped around her upper arm became completely stained with blood in less time than it had taken for museum security to respond to their shouts. They hadn't even tried getting her jacket off there, instead wrapping bandages over the cloth to keep pressure on the wounds, but when the hospital doctor had removed it…. He shook his head. He'd known she was bleeding, and he'd known that it wasn't good, but he hadn't been prepared for the sheer volume of blood that the ripped cotton of her shirtsleeve had absorbed. And not that eight stitches on one side of her arm and eleven on the other were _good_, but she'd gotten lucky because if the leather jacket hadn't kept the wounds to punctures rather than rips, there was every chance that an artery would have been torn.

"Where are those bandages?" The doctor shook her head and shut the cabinet. "The nurse must have forgotten to restock. I'll be back in one minute."

"Hey, no," Steve said quietly, nudging Claudia's hand away from the two rows of stitches starting halfway between her elbow and her shoulder as the doctor shut the door behind her. "Don't touch. Didn't you hear what she just said?"

"Relax, I've had stitches before."

"So have I." More times than he cared to think about, actually. "You still aren't supposed to touch."

She glared but let her hand fall to her side, and there was silence for a few minutes until someone tapped lightly on the door.

They exchanged glances, but before Steve could go see who it was, a man in a police uniform opened it. "Excuse me, sir, may I speak to you? It won't take long."

Steve glanced down at Claudia, who nodded, and he looked back up at the officer. "Of course."

The doctor reentered with a roll of bandage as he stepped out, and he and the officer moved to the side, out of the flow of traffic.

"I'm sure your little sister will be fine," the officer said. "The hospital notified me when she was brought in from the aquarium with puncture wounds, but from what little the doctor could tell me without violating confidentiality, the injuries aren't too severe."

"What? No, she's not my sister," he said with a shake of his head. Why would anyone think that?

"Oh, girlfriend? I'm sorry, from what the doctor said, I just assumed—"

"No, no, she's not my girlfriend either. She's my partner." He reached for his wallet. "Steve Jinks, ATF. Her name is Claudia Donovan, although you probably already know that." As the officer examined his badge, it occurred to him that he might have put them in a bad position since Claudia didn't have badge of her own—well, unless she'd somehow acquired one, which he probably shouldn't rule out offhand—but what was done was done. Besides, if the man knew that he was law enforcement, he might be willing to pass along information that he wouldn't give a civilian.

The officer handed his badge back and then offered a hand in greeting. "Detective Jack Davidson, Boston PD. As I said, the hospital notified me when your partner was brought in. May I ask you a few questions about what happened earlier?"

"Of course, whatever I can do to help."

"Well, to start with, what brought you and your partner to the aquarium today?"

Steve wouldn't exactly claim to be a great liar, but he was very good at talking around things. It was especially easy in situations where it wasn't like anyone would believe the truth anyway. "We were just looking around, mostly," he said with a shrug. "It's not exactly the nicest weather for taking a walk around the city, and neither of us had been to an aquarium since we were kids so we figured we'd spend the day there."

"This wasn't part of any kind investigation then?"

"As far as I know, no one at the ATF has any great interest in sharks."

That got snort. "Fair enough. Well, then, can you describe in your own words what you saw?"

"I'm afraid that I didn't see anything. Claudia and I had been digging around in the tide pools for awhile—they're part of the Coastal Waters exhibit—and then we were heading back into the main area talking about what to do next when she yelled. I turned around, and she was on the ground. She was wearing her jacket so it took me a minute to realize that she was bleeding."

"And you're sure that she didn't just run into something sharp accidentally?"

"There was nothing to run into, sharp or otherwise. We were walking down the middle of the hallway. I'd say there was at least four feet of empty space on either side of us. Probably more."

"And you didn't see anyone running off after she yelled? Or maybe hear footsteps?"

"No, I didn't see anyone. Not just no one running, no one was in that part of the hall at all. And I don't remember any footsteps either." Granted that most of his attention had been on Claudia, but he'd done a quick check immediate vicinity automatically, and if there had been someone else around, he was pretty sure that he'd at least have gotten a glimpse of them. "The exhibit was pretty deserted the whole time we were there. I guess the last people I saw before we left were a couple, older, probably retired, but they were pretty intent on one of the wall tanks and I think they were still inside when Claudia got hurt. Do you mind if I ask why there's a detective assigned to something like this?"

Davidson glanced around. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this quiet, but in the spirit of inter-agency communication—and out of courtesy for what happened to your partner—this is actually the third time that someone has ended up bloody in that portion of the aquarium in the past week. Specifically, people are being stabbed in the arm by small, sharp objects. Or, rather, yanked backwards by something that puts what appear to be two rows of small puncture wounds in them."

Stab wounds or bite marks, and it wasn't exactly news, although if Claudia was supposed to be the third it meant that they were discounting the first girl. He nodded slightly anyway. "Do you have any idea what—or who—is doing it?"

"Right now our best theory is that some lunatic got some teeth from the aquarium gift shop and rigged up some kind of hook-weapon with two rows of them in the crook. My partner thinks that an old cane might work if they fastened two sticks with teeth glued in on either side of the hook, although personally I'm thinking a clamp would explain how they're hitting both sides of a person's arm a little better. But either way, he jumps out, uses the device to grab some unsuspecting passerby, gives a yank, and then runs off before anyone catches him. The first incident was handled by museum security, and I think that at the time they were pretty sure that that boy's injuries were caused by roughhousing with his classmates, but then a second boy needed stitches a few days later, and when that incident report matched the first so closely…." He shook his head. "I can't say that the case is our highest priority at the moment, but given that there have now been three attacks and the injuries are getting worse, that may be changing. Especially since the usual weekend crowd is expected tomorrow. As last I heard, the museum is planning to bring in extra security, but…."

"It's no guarantee," Steve had no trouble finishing. That was actually a pretty good theory, and if he didn't know anything about artifacts, he would assume that they were right. Hell, even though he did know about artifacts, he still couldn't say that they were _wrong_. "Thanks for letting me know. We'll keep it to ourselves, obviously, but if you wouldn't mind letting us know what's happening with the case as it goes on?" He shrugged slightly. "The others are pretty much guaranteed to give her hell for getting caught like that on her day off; at least that way she can say that she wasn't the only one."

Davidson smiled slightly. "I'll have to check with my captain, but we can probably do that. If nothing else, we can let you know when we catch the guy. I'd like to get your contact information anyway, just in case any more questions come up."

"Not a problem. Although we aren't based in Boston so your best bet to reach us is to call my cell." Steve wrote down the number and their hotel information in the notebook Davidson offered. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help. Believe me, I wish I had seen something." He paused. "I don't suppose there are any cameras covering that area?"

"No such luck, unfortunately, although we may suggest putting a few in if the extra security doesn't turn up anything. Now, I'm sure that the two of you would like to get out of here, but I do need to speak to her for a few minutes also."

"Do you mind if I go back in with you?" It wasn't necessarily standard procedure, but since they weren't suspects, he was pretty sure that it wouldn't be a problem.

"Of course, you're more than welcome."

The doctor had apparently left the room again while they were speaking, although Steve hadn't seen her pass, leaving Claudia alone in the examining room. She had both hands locked around the edge of the examining table she sat on, and Steve didn't much like the look in her eyes when she glanced over at them, even if it smoothed out into blankness the instant after he saw it. "Can we go now?" she asked.

"Almost. Detective Davidson needs to talk to you for a minute about what happened. Apparently you aren't the only person that's gotten cut up recently."

She looked up as he crossed to stand beside her managing a completely credible, "No joke?"

"Unfortunately not." Davidson offered a hand. "Jack Davidson. I'm with the Boston PD. I've already talked to your partner so hopefully this should just take a minute."

She shook his hand, although her expression wasn't exactly friendly. Unusual for her, but then, it hadn't exactly been a good morning. "Claudia Donovan. What do you need?"

"Could you tell me what you remember about the attack?"

"Well, we were coming out of the exhibit talking, and then something grabbed me and just…clamped down on my arm. I don't know how else to say it; it felt like little knives stabbing my arm. I tried to pull away forward, but that didn't work, so I yanked back, and then all of a sudden it was gone and I was on the ground."

"What exhibit was it that you were leaving?"

"Coastal Waters. It's this whole winding tunnel thing towards the back of the aquarium. I think the sign said it only got set up a couple weeks ago."

He nodded slightly. "And did you see anything when the attack happened?"

"Just the blood coming out of my arm. Whatever it was punched right through my jacket."

"Did you hear anything? Maybe footsteps? Someone running?"

She shook her head. "Not that I can remember."

"And do you remember anyone else being in the area when it happened? Even just standing around?"

Another shake. "There were a couple older people back in the last part of the exhibit, but no one in the hallway with us that I saw. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Here's my card if you think of anything else, and your partner gave me his contact information so I can get in touch with you if I have any other questions. Thank you for your time."

"Thank you," Steve returned, overlapping Claudia's 'Thanks,' and then he picked up her leather jacket and handed it back to her. "Will it survive?" Her shirt was already a lost cause, the left sleeve cut off up to the shoulder so the doctor could work and part of the front stained with blood, but the puncture wounds in the jacket were limited to small holes punched through the leather. Of course, there was plenty of blood on it too, so….

"Maybe. I'll look at it closer when we get back to the motel. I want to get out of here."

The wary look had returned to her face, and he frowned. "Are you all right?"

"I just forgot how much hospitals creep me out."

He nodded in understanding. "Have you got your prescriptions for the antibiotic ointment and the painkillers? Are we supposed to wait for the doctor?"

She held up two slips of paper before sticking them back in her pocket. "She said to go ahead and go; the aquarium is covering the costs. I—" She sucked in her breath sharply as she slipped her injured arm down the sleeve.

"Hey, be careful. We're not in any hurry."

She let herself down off the examining table. "It's bruised to almost black under the bandage. There's only so careful that I can be."

"Don't go picking at that bandage," he said as they headed out of the examining room. "Twenty four hours before it comes off, remember?"

"What part of 'I've had stitches before' are you having trouble with?"

"Oh, I know what you said. I just kind of doubt that you paid any attention to that doctor either."

* * *

><p>The Farnsworth buzzed, and Steve grabbed it before it woke Claudia up. "Artie?"<p>

Artie nodded sharply.

"Did you find anything?"

"So far none of the other victims have suffered any artifact-related issues aside from the original wounds," Artie said.

That was the same information that they already had—although their original information was a few days old—but he nodded anyway. "That's good."

"I said _so far_. You two need to find this artifact and neutralize it." He paused. "Where's Claudia? Are you sure that she's okay?"

"She's right here. The painkillers finally knocked her out about an hour after you talked to her." Just as well, in his opinion. He turned the Farnsworth so Artie could see her, or at least the top of her head peeking out from under the blankets on the other bed. "I'm trying to find out more about that exhibit. You know, if it's been anywhere else, if any of those other places had any similar incidents, that kind of thing. Although it would be a lot easier if I could use her computer. I don't suppose you know the password?" The idea had occurred to him after she'd fallen asleep, and he hadn't been willing to wake her up to ask for it.

"She doesn't particularly like other people touching it," Artie said with a shake of his head. "That's a good idea, though. I'll see what I can do from this end. And when she wakes up, tell her to call me."

Steve nodded and kept the smile off his face until the Farnsworth was shut. It wasn't like he expected Artie to _admit_ how much he fussed over Claudia, after all. And maybe he didn't really need a bigger screen to read about the aquarium exhibits. He typed in the phone number of the aquarium quickly.

"New England Aquarium Information," a woman's voice said cheerfully. "Aquarium hours are nine to six on weekdays and nine to seven on weekends during the summer and nine to five on weekdays and nine to six on weekends during the winter. For holiday hours, please see our website or stay on the line and wait for a representative." There was silence, and then a click and a man spoke. "New England Aquarium Information, how may I help you?"

"Hello. I had a few questions about your Coastal Waters exhibit?"

"Of course. I would be happy to help you."

"How long has the exhibit been open?"

"I believe that it will be three weeks this coming Monday."

"And did it come from another aquarium?"

"No, this exhibit was actually designed and constructed by several members of our on-site staff. May I ask why you're interested?"

"I just thought that it was a very interesting exhibit, and it was nice that you were able to get actual tide pool contents from so many different regions for guests to look at."

"Well, we're very fortunate to have contacts with other institutions in different parts of the country that were willing to send us samples."

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you for your time; I just wanted to pass along my compliments to the designers."

"Thank you, we always appreciate feedback from our guests."

Steve disconnected the phone and sighed. Different institutions, great. And that assumed that whatever did this was even coming from a tide pool. He'd had his hands in all of them the same as Claudia had, and nothing had bitten him. Besides, she'd been wearing purple gloves while she was digging around. Of course, she'd also had her purple gloves on when she'd checked the railing for splinters, when she'd checked the walls….

He leaned back against his headboard, drumming his fingers against the bedspread lightly. Maybe her glove had gotten a hole in it that she hadn't noticed and that had let her make contact with the artifact? It seemed pretty unlikely, but he couldn't rule it out offhand. He was pretty sure that she'd stuffed the pair into her jeans pocket before they left the exhibit so they'd have to check when she woke up.

Or…. He frowned. Maybe it wasn't the exhibit they'd thought it was at all. He unfolded the aquarium map that he'd stuck in his jacket. Before they'd reached the Coastal Waters exhibit, she'd stopped to look at a bunch of others, ones that _he _hadn't paid much attention to except as obstacles to go around. Could it be some kind of reaction to something in one of those? Most had just been big tanks, glass and steel, but there had been a touch pond, some kind of fake submarine wall that he was pretty sure was actually for kids…. There was no straight line between any of them and the Coastal Waters exhibit, though, and while the artifact could be in one of them, the fact that all four people had been attacked inside or just leaving the Coastal Waters exhibit was awfully coincidental. He shook his head and glanced at the map again. It was something else worth taking a look at, though.

He was still reading through the descriptions of the other exhibits when there was the sound of rustling from the other bed, and a moment later Claudia stuck her head out from under the blankets. "Jinksy?" She blinked. "What time is it?"

"About five. Are you feeling better?"

"I don't know. My brain is fuzzy." She rubbed at her forehead as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "What are you looking at? Did you find out anything?"

"Nothing's jumped out at me yet, but I do have a couple ideas. For one, trying to figure out where the different stuff from the Coastal Waters exhibit came from, just in case this artifact was causing problems somewhere else before it made it up here. If we could narrow it down to one of the tide pools, or even just a couple, that would help. And for another, you stopped to look at a lot of stuff that I didn't. It might be worth taking a look at them too, just in case." He paused. "Although I don't suppose you're getting hungry?"

"Not really." She frowned. "I probably should be, though, since I skipped lunch. Did you eat anything?"

"Just a pack of chips from the vending machine down the hall." Which was why his stomach was starting to complain. "And painkillers do that to you sometimes. How's your arm feeling?"

"It's fine."

"Lie."

"You do know that that's annoying, right?"

"It's been mentioned. How's your arm?"

"It could be worse."

"You're going to be a pain about this, aren't you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I can handle it _myself_."

"Okay. Okay." He held up his hands. "But I don't want to drive anywhere I don't have to in this city, and it's starting to rain so walking to dinner doesn't sound like a lot of fun either. Especially since you're supposed to keep those stitches dry. How about we go down to the hotel restaurant and see what they have? Maybe you'll start to feel hungry once you smell something cooking."

She nodded.

"You need to call Artie first, though."

"Why? Did he find something?"

"Not as of half an hour or so ago, but he wants you to call him anyway." Steve headed for the bathroom to give her a little privacy, and when he came out, she was closing the Farnsworth again. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. So far the others who got bit are still fine so I'm probably not going to turn into a vampire or anything anytime soon."

"Good to know. Especially since I'm sharing a room with you. Are you ready to go downstairs?"

She nodded, and it wasn't a lie, although judging by the pinched look on her face, she wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

"You can stay here, if you want," he pointed out. "I'm pretty sure that I can pick out something that you'll eat and just ask for it in a to-go box."

"No, I should get up and at least walk around a little."

She obviously wasn't going to back down, so he settled for passing her one of the room keys. "You can always come back up if you decide that you want to."

Another nod, and they headed for the elevator.

Most of the time, it wasn't difficult for the two of them to find things to talk about. They had similar tastes when it came to movies and music, and their opinions on current events might not match exactly, but they were alike enough that they could argue without risking things turning really unpleasant. And if nothing else, asking her a vaguely technical question was enough to keep her talking for a good half an hour, even if he didn't have much to contribute. Today, though, her answers were mostly monosyllables, and after a few failed attempts to draw her out, he ended up filling the silence with commentary on the games that had been replaying on TV while he'd done aquarium research. From what he'd seen, she knew about as much about sports as he did about computers, but she was paying more attention to him than the chicken salad on the plate in front of her so he kept talking until his food was gone, and hers was…thoroughly rearranged. The fact that she'd been paying more attention to his words than to it wasn't really saying much, all things considered.

"Headache, stomachache, or is your arm hurting?" he finally asked. "And if you say you're fine, I'll throw a tomato at you." It probably wasn't a good sign that he was actually hoping for his partner to stick her tongue out at him, and he wasn't at all reassured when she only gave a slight shake of her head.

"The first and the last, I guess. Mostly the last. Like I said, I've had stitches before, but it's been awhile. I forgot how much un-fun they are at first."

And the bruising from whatever grabbed her probably wasn't helping either. "That's why the doctor prescribed you painkillers. If you can hang on for another half-an-hour or so, you should be okay to take another dose."

"Yeah, but then I get to deal with an even fuzzier head. I'm not sure which is worse, even if my arm does hurt. I don't like having a non-functional brain."

He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure your brain is still fine, even if it is fuzzy. Besides, it won't kill you to go to sleep early tonight, even if you did take a nap this afternoon. It's too late to go back to the aquarium anyway, so why not take one more dose of the prescription stuff since you know it works, and you can try regular ibuprofen like the doctor suggested tomorrow. If it's strong enough, you won't need any more of the other kind."

"I don't think I have any of that in my first aid kit, though," she said after a minute. "Just aspirin, and I don't think that'll be strong enough."

Of course she had a first aid kit somewhere in her bag. He kept his headshake to himself. "Well, I'm done with my dinner, and it doesn't look like you plan on eating any more right now, so why don't you get a box for your salad and sign everything back to our room and go upstairs. I'll go ask at the front desk and see if they've got any of those little travel pack kind." If nothing else, they should be able to direct him to a drugstore that would have some.

"Thanks," she said after a minute, and then her eyes dropped to the table. "Um, I…."

"What?" he asked when she showed no signs of continuing.

She looked up. "Promise that you won't tell the others?"

He frowned and then nodded. "Okay. Promise."

"Can you ask if they have any of the children's kind? I've got a weirdly high tolerance for things like antipsychotics thanks to a couple of the doctors at…well, _there_…but adult doses of aspirin and Tylenol and stuff usually make me sleepy. I mean, if they don't have any, it's fine, I can just split the dosage, but…."

He bit back a grin. "I will ask. And I won't even tease you about it until you're feeling better."


	10. Shark Bait: Options

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>Steve unfolded himself from his sitting position and blinked at the sight of Claudia sitting upright on her bed, her computer in her lap and her hair damp. He'd gotten very good at blocking out distractions while meditating courtesy of a roommate way back when—or courtesy of said roommate's <em>dis<em>courtesy, anyway—but it had been years since he'd shared a room. And not that Claudia was all that loud, at least not when she didn't intend to be, but he was a little surprised that he hadn't at least registered the shower running.

He straightened and stretched and then frowned at the sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under the sleeve of her t-shirt. "Claudia, you weren't supposed to replace that bandage yet." His frown deepened. "You did remember to cover the stitches before you took a shower, right?" If not, they were going to have to go back to the hospital because just slapping a new bandage on it wasn't going to cut it.

Her typing slowed slightly as she looked up. "Duh. And it's only a couple hours early; I don't think that the world is going to end." She paused. "Oh, and good morning to you too."

"Good morning." He shook his head and stepped over to the side of her bed, reaching out to check the bandage, and was surprised when she pulled away, her fingers tightening around her computer.

"Don't."

"I just want to take a look." He paused. "Does your arm hurt?"

"No."

"Lie."

Scowl. "It's not that bad, then. Nothing that I can't deal with."

That was true, but he had no idea what kind of first aid skills—if _any_ first aid skills—she had to judge that 'not that bad' by. If it had been Pete or Myka he wouldn't have worried given that they had to have at least the same basic first aid training that he did, but he still had no idea what Claudia's background was. And judging from her expression, asking now would only get him a flat assertion that she could handle it. "Come on, it'll just take a minute. I'll be careful, I promise."

Her frown didn't disappear, but after a few seconds, she did nod reluctantly. And a moment or two of absurdly fast typing later, she set her computer aside and offered her arm. She'd actually done a good job with the bandage, he noticed as she pushed her sleeve up, especially since she must have tied it one-handed, but he sat down on the edge of the bed and unwound it quickly so he could check the stitches anyway. They looked all right…well, the bruising looked painful and probably had a lot to do with why she didn't want her arm touched, but he could see the sheen of antibiotic ointment on both rows of stitches, and there was no sign of any tearing or potential infection. He rewrapped the bandage again quickly.

"Happy?" she asked with a roll of her eyes as she pulled her sleeve back down.

"Not really, but I'd be even less happy if your arm got infected. Especially since Artie would probably yell at me about it. Did you take any medication?"

"Yeah, when I first woke up." She waved her hand at the empty wrapping of a kiddie-strength travel pack sitting on the bedside table as her scowl faded. "Thanks again. For getting them, I mean."

"No worries. You're a lot more useful conscious."

"Gee, thanks."

That smile was real, at least, and he nodded at her computer. "So did I do any irreparable damage?" She'd agreed to let him use her laptop and given him her password—all twenty-seven characters of it, along with a dire warning about what would happen if he mistyped it more than twice—last night before curling up and going to sleep, but he was pretty sure that she'd had at least a few misgivings.

"No. Believe me, if you had, you'd have heard me shrieking. Everyone on this floor would probably have heard me shrieking."

He grinned. "I do believe that. Have you found out anything useful about the aquarium exhibit? I didn't see much last night that I hadn't already found."

"Hm? Oh, no. That, uh, that wasn't what I was working on."

She smiled slightly and didn't look inclined to elaborate, and he frowned. "Do you mind if I ask what you were working on?"

"You don't want to know."

Truth. "Tell me anyway."

"Fine, I was hacking something that you'll be much happier if you don't ask any more questions about."

Also perfectly true. He shook his head. "Can I at least as _why_ were you hacking something that I'll be happier not asking about? I don't think anyone at the aquarium is engaged in any covert operations."

"Never rule anything out," she said in a singsong voice, and then, "But mostly I was just doing it to make sure that my head isn't still fuzzy."

He stared for a moment. "Have you never heard of crossword puzzles?"

She grinned.

"I'm going to clean up and get changed. If you haven't already, could you please bring your…illegality…down to the level of, say, a misdemeanor before I'm done?" He shook his head. "It's amazing the number of things that I say around you that I never expected to hear coming out of my mouth."

Snicker. "Your poor, abused ethics."

He stood, grabbing a change of clothes out of his bag and heading for the bathroom. "And call Artie and tell him that you're still okay."

Her computer had been shut down and put back in her bag by the time that he finished, and he dropped down on her bed beside her again. Being careful not to jostle her injured arm. "What are you looking at now? Or do I not want to know that either?"

She gestured at the aquarium map in her lap. "No, it's cool. I'm trying to figure out exactly which other exhibits I stopped at yesterday. I know that I looked at the children's wall along here, although I can't tell which part from this map, and then I touched a couple of the rays in the touch tank back in this section, and then I was looking at the big ocean tank right before we went to the Coastal Waters exhibit. But that was just staring through the glass; I don't even think that I put my hands on the railing."

That about matched what he remembered, and he shook his head. "It seems like the tide pools are still the most likely threat, then. I mean, kids have their hands all over that wall all day, and if there were an artifact there, surely there would have been more attacks. Or at least not all of them at the exit of Coastal Waters. Although…."

"Although what?"

"Everybody who's been attacked _has_ been a kid." He grinned slightly when she glared. "What? I'm just saying."

"You do realize that I haven't fixed your computer yet, right? Besides, I don't think that a sixteen year old guy would have gone into the children's section of the aquarium, especially with his classmates around."

"He might have if he was goofing off. And the same reasoning could be used for the thirteen year old on his class trip too. The ten year old might have been there legitimately."

There was silence for a moment, and then she looked up at him. "What, no comment to make about me?"

He smirked. "I've got a few more, but I thought I'd space them out a little."

"Lucky me. But I guess you've got a point. We'd better check it out." She tapped the map lightly. "We can probably put the touch pool at the end of the list, though, just because there isn't much in it besides the animals."

He nodded, and then, "Oh, and I meant to ask last night. I don't suppose one of the purple gloves that you were wearing has a hole in it? That could be why the artifact affected you right there."

"A hole?" She frowned. "Wow, I guess I'm still a little out of it. I didn't even think of that." She was wearing the same pair of jeans today, and she dug the gloves out of her pocket and stretched them out on her lap, checking each carefully before inflating it slightly. "Nope, no leaks. Damn. It was a good thought, though."

"Back to the aquarium, then?"

"Looks like. But after food? I'm getting hungry, and I don't think that a granola bar is going to cut it."

"Definitely after food," he agreed.

She grabbed her jacket as she stood, fingers running over the holes in the left sleeve gently, and then her eyes widened and she grabbed her gloves up off the bed.

"What's wrong?"

"Look at this." She pulled something free, holding it carefully in the purple glove. "It was caught in the back of the leather; I didn't even notice it yesterday."

His eyes narrowed at the sliver of white in the glove. Not that he was any kind of marine biology expert, but given what they'd found on the third victim…. "Is that part of a tooth?"

"That'd be my guess."

He reached for his phone. "We need to get that to the police. They might need it for evidence."

"Of what?" She shook her head. "Never mind. I'll scan it and send it to Artie later and then you can give it to whomever you want, all right?" Another shake. "_Total_ boy scout."

* * *

><p>Steve frowned, looking to either side. "Is this really where you were standing? I could have sworn that you were further along down that way."<p>

"I'm very sure." She gestured at the mock porthole in front of her. "I was looking at the seahorses, and they're only in these three tanks."

"Hm. Okay." He took a few steps back, apologized to the six year old he almost tripped over, apologized to the six year old's mother, and surveyed the area. The wall in this part of the exhibit was decorated like the interior of a very odd submarine, complete with knobs and switches and handles and random attachments everywhere. There were a lot of kids and parents in his way that were keeping him from getting a clear view of everything, but nothing that he could see jumped out at him as immediately artifact-like. Of course, there was no guarantee that he'd _recognize_ something artifact-like, and he glanced down at Claudia as she made her way out of the crowd to join him, tucking her phone back into her pocket as she went. "Do you see anything promising?"

She shook her head. "Not really, but there are a lot of nuts and bolts and random other stuff glued to that wall. I took a couple pictures, but if one of them is some kind of artifact, we won't know about it until we hit it with purple stuff. And something could be. Like maybe if it was pulled off a ship when a shark attack happened and some kind of bad juju transferred."

A passing woman shot her a disapproving look and muttered something about inappropriate topics, and he gestured for Claudia to follow him out of the children's area into the atrium where they had a little more space to talk without being overheard. "There's no way that we can paint that wall—even just that section of wall—with purple goo in this kind of crowd. We're going to have to get them to clear the exhibit."

"Right, because that won't raise any questions."

"Do you have a better idea? Even if we wait until Monday, there are still bound to be a few people around to ask questions."

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe we can pull the maintenance thing."

"What maintenance thing?"

Another shake. "Let's check out the Coastal Waters exhibit first. You're right about there being too many people to do anything right now, and anyway, if we wait, it'll give us a chance to ask Artie about ship shark attacks later when I send him the scans of the tooth. Heck, if we're very lucky I can send him the pictures and he can point out exactly what the artifact is."

"Are we ever that lucky?"

"Not really." She paused, glancing back with a frown. "You know, if it is there, I'd bet that whatever it is is on the upper part of the wall. A lot—most, even—of the kids looking in the tanks aren't tall enough to reach what I would have touched, and the parents don't seem to get that close. That could be why there haven't been that many attacks."

"And what you could reach, a thirteen or sixteen year old probably could too," Steve said with a nod. "And maybe that ten year old too, if she's tall." That wasn't a bad theory. "You're right about needing to check Coastal Waters, though." And he still wanted to know exactly what 'pull the maintenance thing' entailed. With his luck, probably the breaking of at least a few laws.

The extra security guards were clearly visible as they made their way towards the exhibit, and he was glad to see them, even if they might make his and Claudia's job a little harder. Unfortunately, it became obvious pretty quickly that the crowd was going to be the real problem, and he didn't miss her wince as someone jostled her arm as they made their way towards the first tide pool. And despite their best efforts, they still couldn't get close enough to even reach the water. A group of young teenagers ringed the edge lifting and dropping handfuls of sand and rock in turn and laughing as the current pushed the debris around as it sank.

They exchanged glances and then continued on, moving past the next three tide pools as well when the crowds made it difficult to get close. The crowds around the tide pools began to thin as they moved further along, though, probably because most people had gotten their fill of digging around in the sand and were content enough just to look at the tanks around the edges of the rooms. He frowned as the thought occurred to him, turning towards Claudia.

"Are you seeing this?" she asked before he could do more than open his mouth. "The further we go, the fewer people are playing in the water."

"And the fewer people playing in the water, the fewer people who have a chance to touch anything artifact-y," he agreed with a nod. "I noticed too." And kids would be more likely than adults to _keep_ splashing around in tide pools, even if they'd just left another one five minutes before. He stepped around a group of preteens digging around in the current one, looking for some kind of sign that would narrow its source down a little further than 'The Gulf Coast' as the sign at the entrance to this chamber declared. "Here's a plaque. He squinted in the less-than-brilliant light. This one was donated by the New Orleans aquarium…it looks like it came from right off the coast."

Claudia pulled a pen and the map out of her pocket and scribbled down the information. "Let's get the rest of the locations now, and we can research later."

The next two were both from the Atlantic coast, one from the Everglades and the other from Raritan Bay in New Jersey—since apparently Boston Harbor was too close to be used as an exhibit—and then he gestured back the way they'd come. "Do you want to hang out here, and I'll go get knocked around by the crazy tourists to get the first couple locations? I think one of the later ones is more likely, but as long as we're here, we might as well get them all."

She glanced back at the crowd and then nodded, offering the pen and map on which she'd been writing the locations. "Good plan. Thanks."

He'd gotten Huntington Beach, Puget Sound, and Oahu and was making his way towards the Alaska tide pool when he heard shouts coming from behind him, and with a frown, he began to make his way back through the crowd to where he'd left Claudia.

It was the same direction in which the others were moving, and as he got closer, it was pretty obvious where the commotion was coming from. The exit of the exhibit. Steve couldn't help but feel a flash of relief as he exited and recognized Claudia standing along one wall where security had pushed most of the crowd to make room, but she didn't see him, her attention focused on whatever was happening in front of her. He moved along the opposite wall, finding a spot where he could see what was happening just as a paramedic crew hurried in from the other direction with a stretcher.

The woman on the floor was in her mid-to-late thirties by his judgment, and she was in a bad way. Her arm was totally soaked with blood, and from the rate at which it continued to soak through the bandages that they were layering on, it was obvious that unlike Claudia, whatever had struck her had severed an artery. A man about the same age was standing close, watching her with wide eyes and holding back a little boy that couldn't be more than nine or ten, and Steve debated pulling his badge and going to help. Unfortunately, it was obvious that there was nothing that he could do that aquarium security and the paramedics weren't _already_ doing, and at this point forcing himself in would probably do more harm than good. The paramedics lifting her onto the stretcher and taking her away a moment later, herding her family along with them, made the decision for him, and he crossed over to Claudia quickly. "Are you okay? Did you see what happened?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. But no, I was looking in one of the tanks, and then I heard a yell, and when I got out here she was on the floor bleeding like mad and the security guys were already pushing everyone back. I couldn't even get her name."

He glanced at the pool of blood on the floor that the security guards who'd remained behind after the paramedics had left were now cordoning off. Probably for the police. "I can't believe that I'm asking this, but if we need it, can you get it from whatever police report is going to get filed?"

"Aw, Jinksy, my attempts at corruption are starting to take effect. Yes, I can."

He shook his head. "All right. I've got everything but the source of the first tide pool, so do you want to get that and get out of here? That wasn't a minor injury, and if they really are getting worse..."

"We need to find that artifact and neutralize it," she said with a nod. "Sounds like a plan. Besides, judging by what I heard one of the security guys saying, they're going to be shutting this exhibit down in a couple minutes anyway. Maybe even the whole aquarium."

"It's what I'd do if I was working security," he said with a nod. "Given how bad that looked, even if they do think it's some crazy person, the fact that he's willing to work in this kind of crowd and is able to do that kind of damage without getting caught is just not worth the risk."

* * *

><p>"—thinking it's more likely to be something in one of the later tide pools," Claudia finished.<p>

"More likely, maybe, but _never_ rule anything out," Artie said. "Especially given the ages of the victims. Or the ages of your victims plus the age of the child of your last victim, anyway." He glanced away and then nodded slightly. "I'll dig around here and try and find out as much information as I can about artifacts related to materials recovered from shipwrecks. Particularly ones that also involved shark attacks."

"Ooh, shark attacks," Pete said, snatching Artie's Farnsworth away. "So, eleven hundred men went in the water," he said, deepening his voice. "Three hundred sixteen men come out and the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb."

"What?" Steve asked. He knew that Pete had been in the Marines, but that made no sense whatsoever.

Pete stared. "It's from _Jaws._ You know, Quint, when he was telling Hooper and Brody about the Indianapolis?"

Steve looked at Claudia, who shrugged.

"Oh, come on!"

"Give me that," Artie said, taking his Farnsworth back. "Go help Myka. Claudia, Steve, I will look into shipwrecks and shark attacks, and I will also see if I can't get a little more information about just how authentic the decorations in that children's exhibit might be. You two concentrate on those tide pools. And if you have to go back to the aquarium, be _careful_."


	11. Shark Bait: Focusing In

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"'The Everglades.'" Claudia sighed. "How very unspecific."<p>

"Hey, it's better than 'The Aleutian Islands,'" he pointed out. "A little bit, anyway." With only the one computer between them, and only one chair at the small hotel room desk, they'd ended up sprawled out next to each other on her bed, him trying to read over her shoulder as the search results for the various tide pools came up. Which, fortunately, seemed to bother her a lot less than it would have him if their positions had been reversed, but she read faster than he did, and his requests that she scroll slower had to be getting irritating. And it didn't help that they didn't dare narrow things down much past 'shark attack' for fear of overlooking something either.

"Okay, point." She drummed her fingers against the side of the laptop lightly. "Still, you'd think that an aquarium could manage to be a _little_ more specific about which part of the ocean their exhibits came from."

"Some of the plaques are. I think it must depend on whoever sent the individual tide pool contents." He winced as a muscle in his neck spasmed, shifting around to sit cross-legged on the bed and rolling his shoulders to try to relieve the tension. They'd put in a couple hours of research, and so far their best option looked the tide pool from Hawaii. There hadn't been a huge number of shark attacks there, and most of them had occurred a decent distance from the beach—not really a surprise given that the majority of the victims had been surfers—but it still had a higher number than any of the others so far. He hadn't come up with any good theories about what in the tide pool could have been an artifact, but if it really could be anything, maybe just a grain of sand had been enough. It was a scary thought.

Of course, all of this was assuming that whatever had made the artifact was even recorded somewhere that Claudia could access. If not, they were pretty much back to square one. Negative square one. Whatever, it wasn't good. And who knew how they were supposed to identify the source if that was the case, unless Artie could ship them thirty or forty gallons of the purple stuff so they could just drown everything in all the tide pools.

"The Everglades have had a lot of alligator attacks," Claudia said after a moment, apparently still unbothered by the awkward position, "and a bunch of complaints about sharks eating people's fish, but not much about sharks eating the people themselves. Although there have been a few fatal shark attacks further up the coast."

Steve sighed. "But it does say 'Everglades.' There's only one more left, right?" Somewhere in New Jersey if he remembered right. Not really promising. "If we don't get any hits there, I'm afraid we are going to have to go back to the aquarium. Whenever it reopens."

"Any brilliant new ideas about what we should look for?"

"I don't know, aren't you supposed to be the expert at this?"

She twisted to glare at him, and he winced. He'd intended it as a joke, but it hadn't quite come out that way. "Sorry, I'm just getting frustrated." It wasn't like this was an ATF case, where there were things like motives and witnesses and forensics and—"Hey, we could go question the kids," he pointed out. They'd talked about it for a few minutes earlier, but after the latest attack, it had fallen by the wayside. "I can pretty much guarantee that the aquarium won't reopen today so we can go this afternoon. I still don't think they'll remember exactly what they touched inside the tide pools, but they should be able to tell us which ones they were playing in. Maybe it was an alligator attack and the scientists were wrong about what kind of tooth they found."

She managed a quick grin at that. "And they should be able to tell us if they were anywhere near the children's area too. If nothing else, maybe we can at least rule a few things _out_. Good idea. Their addresses were included in the stuff that Artie s…." She trailed off, staring at the laptop screen.

"What?" Steve slapped her uninjured shoulder lightly when she didn't respond. "Hey, Claude, what is it?"

"Dude, check this out. Pete might have been right. Kind of, anyway."

He frowned. "About what?" The last time they'd spoken to Pete had been when he'd stolen Artie's Farnsworth. "_Jaws_ isn't real. It's a movie. And I think a book before that."

"Yes, thank you, I know that, but look. There were a series of shark attacks along the New Jersey coast back in 1916 that were supposed to be the _inspiration_ for _Jaws_. The last one was just a couple miles from Raritan Bay. The last few, actually."

Raritan Bay being the source of the contents of the last tide pool. Steve leaned back down so he could see the screen a little better. "Man, that shark had some busy days. Or was it sharks?"

"They don't know," she said after a minute. It says here that they caught one shark with like fifteen pounds of human flesh in its stomach—which, can I just say _gross_—but they aren't even sure that the same shark was responsible for all of the attacks."

"Hm." Steve looked again at the map marking a sequence of attacks trailing up the coast and nodded. It did sound promising, especially since unlike the other attacks they'd looked at, these attacks had happened right along the coast or inland down a coastal waterway. And the shark that had been presumed responsible had been killed right in Raritan Bay, where the aquarium exhibit had come from. "So, what, maybe one of the victims bled on something, and that bad juju transfer you mentioned earlier happened?" he suggested.

"Or part of one of the victims landed on something. Or maybe one of the rocks in that tide pool is actually a bone."

"Oh, there's a pleasant thought." He frowned. "It's been ninety-five years though. You don't think that the ocean would have long since swept whatever it was away?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it's just been getting pushed back and forth? I don't know. But, it's as good as any other idea that we've got." She started to roll sideways, winced as the action pressed her left arm into the mattress, and rolled back onto her stomach and sat up normally. "What do you say we go talk to the kids now like you were saying and plan on hitting the aquarium again tomorrow? Hopefully it'll be open. If not, I can pick locks pretty well." She frowned. "Or I could, anyway, I haven't done it for a while. Artie never lets me practice."

"I…good," Steve said after a minute, and then shook his head when her frown deepened. "The first part sounds good, I mean." And so did the fact that Artie was attempting to limit her crime sprees—at least in one area—but he wasn't going to go there right now. Especially since when it came down to it, he knew how to pick a lock too. "It's Saturday so if we're lucky, the kids will be home." He paused. "How's your arm? I saw that look; do you want to take a couple more ibuprofen before we go?"

"I'll be all right as long as I don't do anything stupid like put my weight on the stitches. Give me a second to put the addresses in my phone."

It took a little more than her promised second, but not much more, and then they headed down to the garage. "Do you have some kind of badge?" he asked as they climbed into the car. "I've got mine, obviously, but is there a Warehouse agent version or something?"

She shook her head. "No, there's not even Warehouse ID. They're pretty serious about the whole 'secret' thing." She shrugged. "I guess I could get myself a badge from a different agency without too much trouble, but I never really thought about it. And as good as I am, even I won't be able to manage it in the next ten minutes."

Judging by the way that traffic was moving as he turned out onto the road, it was going to be more like twenty or thirty minutes before they reached the first apartment, but he understood the sentiment. And couldn't help but be a little relieved that she couldn't carry out whatever plan she'd just made. "It shouldn't matter," he said. "I can just introduce you as my partner, and I don't think anyone will ask any questions." Not for this anyway, although if they ever had to go head to head with the FBI or another agency like he and Pete had in Denver, it could be an issue. It was worth pointing that out to Artie, at least, although now that he'd mentioned it to her…. He glanced over. "If you do steal a badge, please don't tell me any of the particulars, okay?"

"Hm? Oh, okay." Another shrug. "I was thinking it would be easier to forge one rather than steal one, anyway. Way less hassle."

He sighed as she grinned. "If I wasn't afraid to take my hands off the wheel in this city, I would put my fingers in my ears. You enjoy tormenting me, don't you?"

"You're just figuring that out now?"

"No, it was a rhetorical question." He smirked. "But the good news is that _I'm_ old enough to have a drink to help me relax and get over it."

She opened her mouth and then shut it again. And then crossed her arms over her chest and turned to stare out the window.

He grinned. Point to him.

* * *

><p>Okay, a bit of information that would have been good to know before they got here: Claudia was not particularly good at dealing with children. The sixteen year old had been at work when they'd stopped at his house, and the thirteen year old lived outside the city so they'd planned for him to be their last stop, but Claudia and Alanna—the ten year old—had been eyeing each other warily since she and Steve had stepped inside the Bransons' apartment, and Steve didn't see the situation improving anytime soon.<p>

"Hey, Claudia, why don't you go run through everything with Mr. Branson," he suggested before this could go downhill any further. "Alanna and her mom and I can stay here and chat."

She took the excuse without even a backward glance, and he shook his head as he watched her go before turning back to the little girl, dropping down to sit on the edge of her bed so he wasn't looming over her. "So, those are some nice figurines that you have."

"Thank you. I started collecting them last year."

"Did you get a new one at the aquarium?"

"The fish." She indicated a metal statue of several fish in kelp between a few others on the shelf in the corner.

"Very cool. Did you get that before or after your finger got hurt?"

"After. Right before we left."

He nodded. "And did you do anything else between when you hurt your finger and when you left?"

She dipped her head quickly. "We went to touch the rays."

"You're absolutely sure that that was after you hurt your finger and not before?"

"Of course I'm sure." She looked slightly offended. "I could only use one hand because otherwise the band-aid would have fallen off."

He glanced up at Mrs. Branson, who nodded. "And what were you doing before your finger got hurt?"

"Playing in the water."

"What water was that?"

"The little round pools? They have them at the back, and you're supposed to dig in the sand and see what's there. I only got to do that in the last couple because too many kids were splashing around in the first ones and making a big mess, though." She paused. "I helped the man from the aquarium dump extra sand and stuff into one of them."

"You did? I'm sure he appreciated that," Steve said. "Do you happen to remember which pool that it was?"

"The last one, I think." She frowned. "Or maybe the one right before that. I'm not sure."

"I think it was the last one," Mrs. Branson said.

Steve nodded and turned back to Alanna. "And did you see anything special in the sand? Maybe a rock that looked different from the rest, or an especially pretty shell, or something like that?" Not that he really expected her to say 'yes' and make their lives easy, but it was worth a shot.

She shrugged. "There were lots of rocks and shells, but they all looked mostly the same. The aquarium guy said to just let it all fall to the bottom and then the water would spread it out from there."

"Hm. I know you said you only got to play in the last couple pools…do you remember exactly how many that was?"

"Three I think? Maybe four."

Mrs. Branson shook her head when Steve looked at her, and he nodded again. "And what about anything else you might have been doing? I know there's a wall decorated like a submarine that looked pretty cool."

"Yeah, we went to see that right when we first got to the aquarium. It was okay. The really big tank with the sharks and stuff in it was neat, though. This lady was swimming around in it pointing out different things, and a man was on top telling us all about the things she was pointing at. And then there were a few other things that we looked at too, like the penguins and stuff."

"That sounds like a fun day." Steve pushed himself to his feet. "I think that's all I need to know. Thank you for talking to me and answering all my questions. I'm glad that your finger is better."

"Is that really everything you needed?" Mrs. Branson asked as she accompanied him back to the main room where Claudia and Mr. Branson stood. "I still don't understand why a splinter is so important that the ATF would get involved." She shook her head, lowering her voice. "I mean, I know Alanna kept insisting that it wasn't a splinter, but you know how kids are. What else would it have been?"

Steve nodded sympathetically. "I know it seems a little strange, but we're helping out the local law enforcement with another incident that occurred recently, and given the particulars, we have to check on the activities of everyone who reported any kind of injury in that area in the past few weeks. Even something minor like a splinter."

"So you don't think she's in any danger or anything?"

"No, no, nothing like that." He shook his head quickly. "It's just standard procedure. And we do appreciate you taking the time to speak to us; I know Saturday afternoon isn't the most convenient time." He glanced at Claudia. "Are you ready to go?"

"I think so." She nodded to the Bransons. "Thank you again for your time."

Steve echoed her nod as they waved it off, and the two of them stepped back outside as the door shut behind them.

"Anything?" Claudia asked as they made their way to where he'd parked the car. "Mr. Branson said that they didn't visit the touch tanks until after she got pricked so at least we've got a definite rule-out there."

"That's the same thing Alanna said," Steve agreed. "She also only played in the last couple tanks—three or four, she thought—and she helped load extra sand and stuff into the last."

"The last one being the Raritan Bay one. That sounds promising."

"Well, she did visit the children's area too before she got hurt, so we still can't rule that out." He unlocked the car, and they both climbed in quickly. "You aren't much of a kid person, are you?"

She shrugged. "It depends on the kid. That one was…really young."

He shook his head. "She was ten. You were her age a lot less time ago than I was."

"I was ten, sure, but trust me, I was a _way_ older ten." She typed something quickly on her phone. "So, next stop, Shrewsbury. Go…that way."

"You realize that 'that way' is about as specific as 'The Everglades'?"

* * *

><p>"Hey, Claudia, if you're going to put a new bandage on your arm, let me take a look first, okay?" Steve called.<p>

There was a groan from the bathroom, but a moment later Claudia emerged, dressed in the t-shirt and sweatpants she normally slept in and with her arm unwrapped. "Are you ever going to believe me when I say that I know what I'm doing with this stuff?"

"It's a lot easier to have someone else do a bandage if you've only got one free hand," he pointed out.

Shrug. "I know a trick for it."

Given how she'd tied the bandage earlier, he did believe that much. And since she seemed in a better mood now…. "Where did you pick up your first aid skills, anyway?" The stitches, coated with fresh ointment, were still clear, and the bruising was starting to fade a little, which was good news. It would probably still be painful for a few more days, but at least it was starting to heal.

"Around, I guess," she said with a one-shoulder shrug, handing over a new bandage when he held out his hand. "I was in a few fights when I was younger, and then later it was more lab-type accidents. You know, wire splinters, electrical burns, whacked on the head by a falling textbook, that kind of thing. I ended up picking up a Red Cross first aid book just to make sure that I didn't miss anything important."

No formal training, then. "Did you ever think about taking a class?" he asked, wrapping the bandage around her arm quickly.

"Not really. Myka said something once about taking me along the next time she had to renew her CPR and First Aid certifications, but then it never came up again. Which, now that I think about it, could just be because she hasn't had to go yet."

That was a good idea, and he made a mental note to drag her along with him when he was due for renewal if Myka hadn't already taken her at that point. "Well, until then—or at least until you heal up—you're going to have to deal with me bugging you about your arm."

She made a face but there was a buzzing from her Farnsworth before she could say anything, and she hurried to dig it out of her bag. "Artie? What's up?"

"I—is something wrong with your arm?"

"I got bit. You know that. Which reminds me, did you get anything out of the scans that I sent you?"

"No, no, not yet. But that bandage is new."

"Yes. Because you're supposed to _change_ bandages." She rolled her eyes at Steve. "And you're worried about _my_ first aid skills?" She returned her attention to her Farnsworth. "Jinksy just finished fixing it, so relax. What about the fake submarine wall, anything new there?"

"I spoke to a few different people, and from everything I can determine, that children's area was built entirely with donations from local hardware stores. No real ship or submarine parts included. At least not deliberately. What have you found out about the tide pools?"

"Well, the last one looks promising. There were a bunch of shark attacks in Raritan Bay way back when, and both kids we talked to today had their hands in that sand. We still don't know what the artifact might be or if the other kid touched anything, but it's the best lead so far."

"Is there a minimum size for artifacts?" Steve asked, moving to look over her shoulder so he could see Artie as well. "I mean, could it be something like a single grain of sand?"

"Oh, there's a happy thought," Claudia muttered.

"I haven't seen anything that small before, but that doesn't mean that you can rule it out. Take the neutralizer tank with you to the aquarium the next chance that you get, and soak everything in that tide pool."

Steve frowned. "What if we run out of goo?"

"If nothing reacts, I'll have Leena overnight another to you. The woman who went to the hospital this morning is still _in_ the hospital, and despite the fact that they've replenished the blood that she lost, her condition still isn't good. I want this thing neutralized as soon as possible."


	12. Shark Bait: Never an End

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"Would you relax?" Claudia said quietly, pushing open the now-unlocked double doors at the entrance of the Coastal Waters exhibit. "I'm sure that obnoxious tourists sneak into closed exhibits all the time." She paused. "Of course, most of them are probably doing it to make out or something, but…."<p>

Steve made a face, and she grinned.

"Look at it this way. With the exhibit still closed, we aren't going to have to worry about anyone interrupting us while we're neutralizing the tank."

"Right, the positive side. Privacy for the destruction—or at least the goo'ing—of aquarium property."

She rolled her eyes and turned, heading deeper into the exhibit. He shook his head and followed a moment later, shutting the door carefully behind him. Breaking and entering, vandalism, contributing to the delinquency of a barely-more-than-minor…. He snorted. One of them was contributing to the other's delinquency, anyway, but it sure as hell wasn't him.

Claudia glanced back, but he shook his head again and waved her forward. She did have a point, he wasn't saying otherwise, but he still had a hard time justifying sneaking around behind people's backs. Especially when said people were the legitimate authority here.

The ceiling lights weren't turned on in the exhibit, but the individual tank lights were. It made sense—the aquarium staff wouldn't want to disturb the animals' routines—and it was enough light, barely, anyway, for he and Claudia to navigate around to the final tide pool without tripping or running into any walls in the darkness.

"And guesses as to how this stuff reacts with water?" he asked as he unslung the container of purple goo from over his shoulder.

"Hang on a sec. There's got to be a drain here somewhere." She pulled her keychain flashlight out of her bag, and after a moment, she knelt beside the tank.

"Whoa, hold up." He caught her arm before she could do more than reach for a recessed panel that he hadn't even noticed on their last visit. "What if the artifact _is_ a grain of sand, and draining the tank pulls it down into the pipes or wherever the drained water goes? Can we risk it?"

"Good point," she said after a minute. "That could sweep it out of the building, and who knows where it would end up. But no, I have no idea how that stuff reacts with water. If we're lucky it'll be like oil, but…."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not sure things would end so well if it goes the other way and the water dilutes it to nothing."

"We could get lucky and it could make the whole tank purple water." Although he was pretty sure that that fell into the 'never that lucky' category.

She shrugged again, pulled out her Farnsworth, and flipped it open.

"Is it done?" Artie demanded as soon as the connection was active.

"Would you chill? We just got here. But Jinksy pointed out that if we drain the tank before we neutralize the rocks and sand and stuff, the artifact might be swept out in the process, and that would be uncool. What'll happen to the neutralizer if we just dump it in the water? Will that lessen its effectiveness any?"

"No, no, dumping it in should be fine, although you'll have to mix it around to make sure that the artifact gets coated. But be careful."

Claudia rolled her eyes and flipped the Farnsworth shut.

"Well, here goes," Steve said, unscrewing the top and tipping the tank, letting about half the purple stuff spill out into the water. He'd dump the other half in if he needed to, but there was no point in using it all up at once. The goo sank to the bottom in an amorphous blob, contorted as it sank into odd shapes by the still-active streams of water. Steve frowned. The neutralizer—and it wasn't exactly light stuff—getting shoved around, the sand and rocks those kids had been tossing around yesterday swirling in the jets, the handful of sand and rock that _he'd_ dropped…. "Crap. I bet that's how it happened."

Claudia looked away from the water for a moment. "What?"

"How you got hurt. I think I might have done it."

"Uh, Jinksy, I'm pretty sure that if you bit me, one of us would remember it."

"What? No, of course I didn't bite you. But these gloves don't reach much past our wrists."

"Yeah. So?"

"So I stopped looking in this one before you did, and I pitched a handful of sand and whatever back into the water while you were still elbow deep in it. With those jets, something could have brushed right past you. As numb as my arms were, I wouldn't have noticed if it happened to me, and I doubt you were any different."

She shrugged. "Or it was in all the sand that I was kicking up while I dug. We're just lucky that both of us didn't get hit." She frowned. "Although we've still got no guarantee that it's even here…the neutralizer's down, and so far nothing's happening." She used her flashlight to outline the layer of purple gunk that now coated the sand below it. "If it is here, it must be buried."

"Well, let's dig it up then. Artie did say we were going to have to coat it." He paused. "One of us. Which right now means me, since you don't need to splash any water on those stitches."

"I—"

"Do you really want to know what Artie will say if they have to put in _new_ stitches?" Plus, given what she'd said about having stitches before, she had to know how unpleasant that would be for her.

The comment got an annoyed scowl, but she didn't object any further. Although she did pull a pocketknife and another one of those purple sheets from her bag and slice off a couple strips. "Here. Try wrapping your arms above the gloves. It might not be pretty, but maybe it'll help."

It beat getting his arm severed if that thing got to him before he got to it with purple gunk, anyway, and he rolled up his sleeves quickly and did as she suggested. "Thanks. How many of those things do you have, anyway?"

"The sheets? I try to keep at least one in my bag. Never know when you might need one."

"Case in point." He frowned down into the tank. Unlike the rest of the tanks, this one didn't contain any sea life, so with the main exhibit lights out the only illumination it had was the ambient light from the other tanks. "Can you hold up that flashlight of yours again so I can see a little better?"

"What, don't want to be eaten by the shark they decided to dump in there?"

"You've been taking comedy lessons from Pete, haven't you?"

Another eye roll, but she leaned over the tank and did something that made the light beam fan out so he could see more of the pool. "Any suggestions?"

"Just start digging, I guess."

He shrugged and reached down, doing his best to mix the goo in with the sand. The textures were different enough that even underwater it was pretty clear what was what, at least. The safest thing to do seemed to be to start along a section of the curved edge and zigzag across the tank and coating everything as he went rather than trying to circle around, but it was going to take some time, and he hoped Claudia had good batteries in her flashlight. And that they'd brought enough goo…sure, he'd only dumped half of it in, but he wasn't at all sure that even if he added the rest, it would be enough for the whole tide pool. The layer of sand and rock and shell was probably six inches deep, and given the diameter of the tank—

A few faint sparks were all the warning that he had, and he'd already started to yank his hand out when Claudia yelled.

Watching something spark under water was a little odd, but there were more than enough sparks to confirm that it really was an artifact. "Oh, crap."

"What? This is good," Claudia said. "We've got the artifact."

"We _had_ the artifact. I took my hand off it when it started sparking." Which, good when it came to not getting burned—well, assuming artifact sparks _could_ burn; he didn't actually know—but not so good when you realized that they still didn't know exactly what the artifact was. This case apparently existed to highlight his least accomplished work.

"Well, I haven't moved the light, and your hand was in that area of the circle, so let's just bag everything in that area. Quick, before we forget the exact spot."

"Which helps how?"

"We rinse it in the hotel sink, re-neutralize, and voila."

"It'll spark again?"

"Yeah, sure. You've seen me use the neutralizer sprayers in the Warehouse. Stuff gets a little out of hand, we spray it down, it goes 'bzzt.'" She flared the fingers of her free hand.

"Shower of sparks even if it already sparked before," Steve said with a nod. "Right." He had seen that once or twice helping her with inventory, although he hadn't always been able to tell how she knew that something needed extra spraying. A couple times he'd been pretty sure that she was just doing it for amusement.

"Let's just make sure that we get everything from that section. And quickly, like I said."

He nodded and then frowned. "Where are we supposed to put the sand given that we need to use the other goo? If we put it in the tank, it'll all get contaminated." Which would be such a problem if they could be totally sure that they got the artifact, but with even a chance of leaving it behind….

"Oh." Claudia looked around. "Maybe there's a bucket somewhere."

"Right, because walking out with an aquarium bucket won't attract any attention." He shook his head. "Spread the rest of that sheet out, would you? I can pile the sand and stuff on it, and we can roll it up and stick it in your bag."

"What? No."

"Claudia."

"It'll get my stuff all gross!"

"Claudia."

"Oh, _fine_," she muttered after a moment. "But if my bag gets dyed purple, I am _so_ remembering that this was all your idea."

"I'll keep that in mind. Sheet?"

"It's in my bag, you get it out."

"Why?"

"Because if I put this flashlight down, we lose the circle of light where we know that the artifact is."

Oh. Right. "Where—"

"Top pocket, stuffed down the side."

The edge where she'd sliced it was ragged, but there was still a decent amount of surface area to it, and he spread it out on the ground quickly and then began digging handfuls of sand out of the tank and putting them on it. It wasn't exactly easy since other sand slid in to fill every hole that he made, but at least the stuff with goo on it did have a different texture, and Claudia's circle of light was a pretty good marker. He probably still took more than he needed to, but better more than less, and he thought that Claudia would agree.

It took a few minutes to figure out how to wrap the mess, and they were lifting it into her bag when there was sound from further back down the corridor.

"—sworn I heard something," a man's voice said.

"Probably just the jets getting backed up again," another man replied. "You know that the filters need work."

"Uh…." He glanced back in the direction of the voices.

"Drop it in, drop it in," Claudia said, tugging on his sleeve. "Come on, hurry, we need to go"

He dropped the twisted up sheet down into her bag, and she flipped it shut and swung it up over her shoulder. And then staggered, biting back a yelp as the weight swung her around.

"Someone's in there," one of the men said.

"Uh…run," she hissed.

"Run?"

"Come on!" She hurried in the opposite direction of the voices, towards the exit of the exhibit, and he grabbed the tank of goo and hurried after her. Fortunately the aquarium guards seemed to be as hampered by the lack of light as they were, and they must have been several sections back because he and Claudia reached the second set of double doors at the exit before he even saw flashlight beams.

She fumbled at the door, the weight of the bag—or at least of the sand in the bag—obviously throwing her off, and he pulled out his pocketknife and went to work quickly. Fortunately the lock wasn't any more complicated than the first had been, and the two of them slipped out into the aquarium proper.

"Mission accomplished," Claudia said with a little bounce. And then a wince as the weight of the bag made her stagger again.

He shook his head. "Let's get back to the hotel and make sure that we've got it, okay? And do you want me to take that? It looks heavy."

One hand closed around the strap of her bag protectively. "I've got it. Just don't lose the neutralizer."

"All right, all right." He held up his hands. "Just asking."

* * *

><p>"Whoa!" Steve dropped the vaguely triangular white stone as it started sparking on contact with his glove, and Claudia was by his side a moment later.<p>

"You've got it?"

"That." He jabbed a finger at it. "Be careful, touching it with my glove just about gave it a fit."

"Hm." She was wearing purple gloves as well, but she grabbed a washcloth used that to fish it out of the sink quickly. "Dump it in the tank?"

"Let's. I'll go ahead and check the rest too, but that's the only thing that's even twitched so far."

"You know…." She trailed off with a frown.

"I have no clue," he said when she showed no signs of continuing.

She pulled out her phone. "Just let me get a picture before you dunk it."

There was no reason not to, and he waited until he heard the familiar 'click' before picking it up—in the washcloth—and dropping it into the partially-filled tank. Where it sparked most impressively. "Well, that was artifacty."

"Yeah, and check this out. This is the picture of the tooth they found in the first wound, this is the scan of the one in my jacket, and this is that thing. Look at the shape and those lines that run down them."

Steve frowned. The first picture was pretty useless, but the last two…. "They're the same." Well, not exactly, the latest one was larger and the edges a lot more rounded, but if it had been getting shoved around with sand and rock for a hundred years, wear was to be expected. "It's a shark tooth, isn't it?" he said. "A _big_ shark tooth."

"I think so. Maybe one of the teeth from that man-eater? The root must have gotten broken off, which is why it doesn't really look like a shark tooth any more, but the pointy part is still there. Even if it isn't so pointy."

Steve looked down into the tub of goo and shook his head. "So we now have Jaws' tooth in the Warehouse? Nice."

"Well, Jaws' tooth that tries to bite off people's arms, so not really so nice, but I'll call Artie and let him know. We should probably check the rest of the stuff we brought back with us anyway, too, just to be safe."

"Is your arm better?"

She poked her arm and then winced and frowned. "Nope, not so much. I guess this isn't one of the artifacts where the effects just disappear upon neutralization. Some of them are like that, though."

"Damn. Would have been nice."

"No joke." And then she was off into the main room, and he shook his head and looked back at the sink. 'We' in this case obviously mean that he should check the rest of the stuff that they'd brought back. But even if they'd found an artifact, it wasn't like there was that much left anyway; might as well finish the job. Besides, as it stood the sink was half-full of sand, and he didn't even want to know what the hotel staff would say if they left it like that.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, one crate is missing?" Claudia asked.<p>

"I mean that one crate is missing," Artie returned. "One hundred and ninety-seven crates arrived yesterday; one did not."

Claudia muttered something under her breath. "Well, what do you want me to do about it? I don't exactly control the US Postal Service. And we're not even officially done with this case until the tooth is back in the Warehouse."

"Just use your master hackery and find it," Artie ordered. "We don't even know what was in it, and now it's wandering around out there loose! Do you remember what happened the _last_ time an artifact was running lose? _This_ is why I didn't want to use air transport. No one is ever as careful as they should be!"

She sighed. "Right, Artie, because ground shipping from Egypt would have gone so well. How does one crate out of like two hundred just up and disappear, anyway?"

"I don't know. Just find it," Artie repeated before snapping his Farnsworth shut.

Claudia groaned and looked up at him. "_Never_ a break, I swear. So, I know how you feel about me breaking federal laws, how do you feel about international ones?"

Steve shook his head, glancing back out of the corner of the airport that they'd commandeered when Claudia's Farnsworth had gone off. "Look, they're about to board our plane. You can take a nice nap against the window on the way back to South Dakota, and I promise that I won't throw your cell phone, computer, or whatever other electronic devices you use for hacking out the emergency exit while we're over any large lakes."

"Your fingers are crossed."

"I noticed that too."


	13. In Between

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"Does she need a pillow?" a flight attendant asked quietly, and Steve glanced down and shook his head.<p>

"She'll be fine." It wasn't like this would be the first flight that Claudia had ever slept through, although before she'd always fallen asleep against the window rather than against his shoulder. She couldn't do that today—tonight—though, not without pressing her stitches against the side of the plane, and while the exit row seats were nice when it came to extra legroom, their inability to recline didn't leave her with a lot of other options.

He looked down again as the flight attendant continued down the aisle, rolling his shoulder gently, but Claudia didn't even stir. Oh, well. She wasn't heavy, and he didn't plan to get up and wander up and down plane anyway. Hell, if he were lucky, he'd be able to get some sleep too.

Unfortunately, luck didn't seem to be with him tonight. Claudia didn't so much as twitch at the pockets of turbulence the plane went through or the flight attendants' repeated announcements as to the state of the fasten seatbelt light, but between the two, he was unable to drift off for more than a few minutes at a stretch despite his fatigue. Even cranking up her mp3 player didn't work since by the time he got it loud enough to drown out the announcements, it was too loud to let him sleep. He finally gave up as the captain came on and announced that they were on final approach for landing, reaching over to shake Claudia's shoulder purposefully.

"Mm? Oh, sorry," she said as she lifted her head from his shoulder, one hand reaching up to rub her eyes. "Didn't mean to use you for a pillow. You could have just shoved me."

"What?" He shook his head. "No, you weren't bothering me." He gestured towards the window. "We're about to land." The wheels touched down before she could say anything, and both of them stared out at the passing lights of the runway for a few moments. "How do you do that, anyway?" he asked as they started to turn into a gate. "Just…fall asleep? We _bounced_ most of the way back, plus I think someone came on the intercom every ten minutes, and none of it even made you twitch."

She shrugged, one hand going up to cover a yawn. "Habit, I guess. I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere when I want to. Besides, apparently you make a good pillow. Did you get any sleep?"

"Not so much." And he could have used it, too, since according to his watch it was now almost two in the morning. There was a chime as the seatbelt light went off for the final time, and he stood, retrieving the canister of goo-and-shark-tooth and her bag and handing the latter back to her.

"Does that mean that I get to drive us back to the Warehouse?" she asked as she stood as well, slinging her bag over her good arm and looking a bit more alert. "Please?"

"I should have seen that one coming, shouldn't I?" He shook his head. "Stay conscious until we pick up my stuff from baggage claim, and we'll see." He suspected that he _would_ end up giving her the keys since unlike him she'd managed to get in a little rest, but he wasn't going to try digging them out now.

She grinned. "Bet I spot your bag before you do." She craned her neck, looking forward at the people who were just starting to file off the front of the plane, and then dug her phone out of her pocket quickly, thumbing it on. "I wonder if I've got any hits on Artie's missing crate."

"A partner who manages to break the law even while asleep, how useful."

Another grin. "Complain, complain, but we know that the corruption is spreading."

Steve rolled his eyes and gestured for her to step into the aisle in front of him.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Jinksy, where are you?" Pete called. "Do you want to go for a ride?"<p>

"I'm up here," Steve called back. "And go for a ride where?" This was his third day of doing inventory, his second on the musical instrument aisles—although for some of the instruments, he was pretty sure that 'musical' was stretching it more than a little—and he was more than ready for a break. Especially since Claudia had spent most of that time buried in her computer hunting the missing crate, apparently a much more difficult undertaking than expected, which had left him working alone. Inventory wasn't half as interesting when he didn't have someone to talk to, and telling her about moose-summoning whistles over dinner or while checking her arm or whatever just wasn't the same. But being ready for a break didn't mean that he didn't want some details about where he might be going, especially when Pete was the one suggesting it.

"Featherhead." Pete came to a halt at the base of the ladder. "Something came in to the Post Office there that Artie wants, and I'm supposed to go pick it up. And South Dakota has the most boring landscape known to man to drive through if I'm going by myself."

Steve frowned, ticking off the last item on his list for the current shelf and climbing down the ladder. "Why isn't Myka going with you?"

"Because Myka is cataloging." Pete shook his head. "A bunch of original works by Ariplane or Aristool or Ari-something came in as part of the last shipment, and I don't think I'm getting her out of those boxes anytime soon with anything short of force." He frowned. "I did stop by to see if Claudia might like to go, but she just shook her head and said something about the Doobie Brothers and then went off in search of Artie."

"The Doobie Brothers as in the band? Why? Did they do something artifacty back in the day?" He didn't think he'd seen anything from them on the musical instrument lists, but then, he wasn't finished, either. "What happened to her search for the missing crate?"

Pete shrugged. "I don't know. And she didn't say anything about artifacts so maybe she just really wants to hear one of their songs. Are you in? We should make it back in time for dinner without any problems, and the game's on the radio. Or it will be in ten or fifteen minutes."

Steve looked back at the shelves for a minute and then shrugged. "Sure." It wasn't as if the Warehouse stuff was going anywhere, after all. Well, except for Houdini's wallet, which Steve was going to suggest that Claudia _bungee_ to its shelf if she had the gear. If she didn't, he'd pick some up himself at the hardware store the next time that he was in town. He gestured to the purple bag that he'd snagged it in this time. "Let me just drop this back off where it belongs, and I'll meet you in the office, okay?"

"Sounds good."

Pete was sitting on the desk when Steve climbed the stairs up out of the Warehouse, looking back and forth between Artie and Claudia, and Steve paused in the doorway to see what was going on.

"_Yes_," Claudia was saying, and if her tone was anything to go by, it wasn't the first time that she'd made that statement. "It routed through a billion or so other places first, which was why it was so hard to pin down—well, that and because I had to work through a translation program most of the time, and by the way, remind me to update that—but I'm very sure that that's its current location."

"Well, what's it doing in Dubai?"

"I don't know. Talk to the Regents. Maybe whoever addressed it had really lousy handwriting. So can I go or what?"

"Or what," Artie returned.

"What? Why not? I've never been to Dubai. And the manifest says that there was only one artifact in that crate so I can bring it back by myself. _Artie_…."

"You aren't going because I don't want to leave whatever it is floating around out there one minute longer than necessary, and tomorrow is your doctor's appointment to get those stitches checked. I just wish that Vanessa wasn't tied up."

Claudia rolled her eyes. "For the hundredth time, I'm fine. My arm is fine. The stitches are almost all dissolved anyway, Jinksy checked it last night."

"Yes, and when he gets a medical degree that statement might be worth something. But tomorrow, you are going to a real doctor."

"Says the guy who got his appendix taken out by a veterinarian." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to go to Dubai."

"The decision has been made! Pete is—oh, Pete, there you are—Pete is going to Featherhead to pick up my shipment, yes? Good." He started to turn back to Claudia and then stopped, frowning at Steve in the doorway. "What are you—why aren't you doing inventory? Or are you going with him?" A wave of his hand. "Never mind, I don't care. _Myka_ will go to Dubai and pick up the missing artifact. I don't think there are any direct flights there from any US airports, but if she routes through Paris…." He returned his attention to Claudia. "Get her on a flight as soon as you can. And arrange for a fast flight back as well. The manifest doesn't list what that artifact actually _does_, but it was in Warehouse 2 so I think we can assume that it isn't good."

"Get her on a flight," Claudia muttered, turning with a scowl. Steve wasn't sure if he'd want her booking him any flights when she was so obviously annoyed, but Pete was gesturing him towards the umbilical, and after a minute, he put the artifact list he'd been working from down on the desk and followed.

"Dubai as opposed to the Doobie Brothers?" Steve asked as they made their way outside.

Pete shrugged. "It's an easy mistake to make."

Steve shook his head and climbed into the passenger seat of Pete's SUV. Total truth in Pete's mind, and Steve wasn't going there. The radio was still playing the pre-game show as they passed through Univille, and he couldn't help a glance over at Pete. "So why did Artie get his appendix taken out by a veterinarian?"

Pete grinned. "Well, Dr. Calder was supposed to do it—hell, getting her to visit was the reason that he kept regrowing it in the first place—but she got called away at the last minute to help some Regent. It wasn't bad at first, but then it _got_ bad, and the Univille doctor was on vacation at the time so his options were Kelly—the vet—or the barber." He shrugged. "Artie survived, and I got a date so I think it worked out well, all things considered, but I'm not sure that Artie would agree."

"I can see where he'd be coming from. Remind me to check the doctor's schedule before I get injured around here." And to find out which artifact grew appendixes so he could make a point of avoiding it. He shook his head. "You know, I don't even remember seeing a sign for a vet in Univille." Which was kind of strange, now that he thought about it…it was primarily a farming community, and having to make a call to Featherhead every time livestock got sick had to be pretty inconvenient.

"She's not here anymore."

"Oh." The words were simple enough, but from way that Pete's expression had fallen so quickly, there was history—or possibly History—there, and Steve suddenly wished that he hadn't said anything.

"HG was pretty thorough when it came to distractions," Pete continued after a minute. "And apparently going from thinking that your boyfriend is a simple IRS agent to finding out that he's most definitely _not_, plus, you know, trying to hack him up with an axe, is a little unsettling. To the point where one needs to leave the state immediately afterwards without leaving so much as a forwarding address."

"Why would you tell her that you were an IRS agent?" Steve found himself asking. He probably should have just let it go, but why anyone would claim that he had no idea. It wasn't like Pete _couldn't_ say 'CIA' or even 'Secret Service,' he just couldn't go into details. And yeah, people had trouble with that sometimes, he'd run into it even with the ATF, but…the IRS?

"Our standard cover in Univille is that we're IRS agents. All of us. That's why no one in town likes us. And for the record, the Warehouse is supposed to be where all the tax returns are kept."

"I…wow." That did explain a few looks he'd gotten, but…. "Again, why?"

"If the guy next door told you that he was an IRS agent with all your tax returns in his shed, would you go poking around?"

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again. He could see Pete's point. It was a disturbing point, and not that he'd expected to find much of a social life out here _anyway_ but that was only going to make it even more impossible, but it was a point.

"Thanks to HG, Kelly got artifacted with Lizzie Borden's compass," Pete said after a minute. "You know, Lizzie Borden as in 'Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her father forty whacks. And when the job was neatly done—'"

"'She gave her mother forty-one,'" Steve completed.

"Yeah. Claude neutralized the compass before I got diced, but not before it did a number on her. Kelly, I mean, not Claudia. And then she was gone." He shook his head. "Hit the volume, I think the game's starting."

Steve reached forward and twisted the radio knob, letting the subject drop. Pete was a joker so much of the time—albeit one with decidedly questionable jokes—that it felt more than a little strange when he turned serious.

Fortunately the game on the radio was more than enough of a distraction that the silence didn't turn uncomfortable, and when they reached Featherhead, they discovered that it was a good thing that they'd both come. Whatever it was that Artie had ordered, it had to weigh close to a hundred pounds, and it was too awkwardly shaped for one person to maneuver alone. And the only postal worker available to help was about eighty years old and looked like he'd blow over in a stiff breeze.

"What's in this thing?" Steve asked as the two of them finally got it wedged into place, leaning against the side of the SUV for a moment. "Did Artie tell you?"

"Not so much, but with my luck, it's probably full of custom-made bricks." Pete slammed the hatch and then stretched and winced, rubbing his neck. "A good chiropractor, now that's what Univille needs."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

Pete shook his head and headed around to the driver's seat. "Come on, at least we should still be able to catch the end of the game."

It was Steve's turn to shake his head. "There's nothing to catch. Didn't you hear the score as we were pulling in? Nobody's coming back from that."

"Oh, please."

"Please what? It's not going to happen."

Pete sighed as he put the key in the ignition. "Claudia was so right about you. Total poopyhead."

Steve shook his head. Sometimes he got the distinct impression that his coworkers were about six.

"Bet," Pete said, sticking out a hand. "I say they pull it out and win the game. Loser buys ice cream."

"You do realize that sugar isn't a food group," Steve pointed out as he fastened his seatbelt. And that, again, it was children who used ice cream as the stakes in a bet. Although this _was_ Pete.

"Bet or no bet?"

"Bet," Steve said after a moment, shaking Pete's hand. It wasn't like he was going to lose, and he could always use the ice cream to bribe Claudia for something. If nothing else, she had taken time off from her crate hunt to fix his computer. She'd be happy enough with an ice cream for a thank you.

"I'm getting free ice cream," Pete said in a singsong voice as he turned the key and the radio came to life.

"Yeah, keep dreaming."

* * *

><p>Pete was still crowing about his win when they pulled into the B and B, and Steve was quick to hop out of the car as soon as it was shut off. "I'll just go call Artie and let him know that we're back if he's not already here. We can drop off the package at the Warehouse after dinner, assuming that's where it's supposed to go." He still wasn't sure what it was, but oddly-shaped furniture wasn't totally out of the question.<p>

"I'm going to go find a replay of those last ten minutes on television," Pete said as he followed Steve up the front steps.

"You do that," Steve returned, although he couldn't put much heat in his voice. Even just hearing the play-by-play over the radio, those ten minutes had obviously consisted of the worst defense in the history of defense.

Pete clapped him on the back, stepping around him as they entered. "_And_ telling Claudia that you're buying ice cream tonight."

He was up the stairs to the second level before Steve could say anything in reply, but Steve didn't exactly have a clever response ready anyway so he just turned for the kitchen and the smell of cooking food. "Hey, Leena. Is Artie—oh." There was no need to call Artie, he was standing by the counter, a phone to his ear and a decidedly irritated look on his face.

"No, not _task_, _flask_," Artie said. "With an 'f.' Why would I be calling a drama department halfway across the country to ask about a task?" Scowl. "Yes, exact—" He broke off with a sudden sneeze and then put the phone back to his ear quickly. "Sorry. Sorry. Now, as I was saying, that sounds like exactly what I'm looking for." A pause. "Why does it matter? Because it's a family heirloom, then, that's why. From my great uncle George Grant."

"Lie," Steve said. Although he'd barely had to look at Artie's eyes to know that, since it hadn't exactly been the most convincing statement that he'd ever heard.

His comment got a grin from Leena, currently mixing something on the stove that looked a lot like spaghetti sauce, but even though he'd taken care not to speak loud enough for whoever was on the other end of the line to hear, Artie only glared and waved at him to be quiet before returning his attention to the phone.

"So can you do that?" Artie asked. Another pause, this one accompanied by fingers tapping rapidly against the countertop. "Look, I'm not asking for you to send it to me by courier. I'm not even asking you to make a trip to the post office. I would just appreciate it if you would hold it in your office until I can send someone to collect it." Pause number three. "Well, then, could you please put on someone who _can_ make that decision?"

"Have we got a new case?" Steve asked as Artie shifted to lean back against the counter, obviously waiting on someone.

"Grant's flask has made an appearance."

"Grant as in Ulysses S. Grant?" The guess might be totally off, but it was the first Grant that Steve could think of. Well, aside from Artie's fake uncle George.

Artie nodded. "Exactly, very good. I've had it on my list for awhile, mostly because it's caused several problems at reenactments. Specifically men drinking out of it and then attacking—" He sneezed again and then shook his head.

"Are you feeling okay?" Steve asked.

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine." Another shake of his head. "As I was saying, I've traced it to several attacks, occasionally by men carrying bayonets, and I'm sure that you can image how well that ends. This is the first time that I've been able to get a solid lead on it after it's left a reenactment, though, usually all I get is 'I think it's in storage or maybe so-and-so took it,' and for some reason no one ever knows where that storage unit might be or what so-an-so's last name is. However, right now they're holding it in the drama department at the college. Or they would be if someone _useful_ would come on the line, anyway. You and Claudia can go pick it up after the doctor checks her arm."

That just screamed 'distraction,' and Steve bit back a grin. "She's still mad at you about not letting her go to Dubai, isn't she?"

Artie's glare was suddenly directed at him again as he lowered the phone slightly. "Did you and Pete get my package?"

"It's out in Pete's car. We figured that we'd take it to the Warehouse after dinner if that's where it's supposed to go. What's in it anyway?"

"Parts for the Neutraliz—" Artie broke off abruptly as there was a squawk from the phone, turning and putting it back to his ear. "Yes, yes, I'm still here. Yes, that is exactly what I was asking about. No, I just need it held temporarily until someone can retrieve it. No, I don't…."

"This will be done in about five minutes," Leena said.

Steve nodded and headed up to his room to get washed up and let Pete and Claudia and Myka if she was still around know that dinner was almost ready. He could always ask Artie about neutralizer parts later when Artie wasn't otherwise occupied.


	14. Siblings

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. This chapter wouldn't get out of my head so I'm posting a little earlier than usual. It takes place across _Queen for a Day_ so if you recognize any dialogue, it's probably because it's not mine._

_I got a comment from the last chapter about the Lizzie Borden rhyme I used not being correct. I'm not sure if they had to change it for television or what, but I pulled it directly from the Season 2 DVDs so it is the correct version in the Warehouse universe (if not the same one that most people know)._

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, it's not here?" Claudia asked. "You were supposed to be holding it for us."<p>

"Oh, is that why it was out sitting on the desk?" The woman shook her head. "Sorry. Jonathan and a couple of the other guys always go and help out when they're holding reenactments, and they usually take along whatever props we have that are accurate for the time and that we aren't using. I'm pretty sure that he just grabbed it and tossed it into the back of his truck with the rest."

"Great." She rubbed her forehead. "Do you happen to know when the props will be returned?"

"Reenactments usually run for a couple days, so probably after this weekend?" She shrugged. "We don't have any productions going on now that need those props so it's not like they'll be in a hurry to get them back."

"Well, thanks for your time," Steve said with a shake of his head, stepping back out into the hall with Claudia trailing behind. "So, what, we just wait until it comes back?"

"_If_ it comes back. Remember what Artie said about it ending up with random people or in storage or whatever. I mean, these guys don't exactly sound like they keep real great track of their stuff. Besides, if we don't go after it and someone drinks out of it…."

"Good point." The bayonet thing. "I guess we're headed for the reenactment, then. Do you want to call Artie and let him know what's up, and I'll get directions to the site?"

* * *

><p>"Again?" Claudia demanded, her voice carrying across the grounds, and Steve debated staying out of range until she finished her conversation. She wouldn't hesitate to drag him into whatever argument she was having, even if he had no idea what it was about or what the 'right' answer might be. Unfortunately, she'd already seen him, so he continued towards her. "That's it, Artie," she declared as he approached. "Totally it. The next time that I get a free week, I am getting a welding torch and some electrical tape and rebuilding that damn thing to <em>my<em> specifications."

"Free week? Hah!" Artie barked. "I've been at the Warehouse longer than you've been _alive_, and I've never had a free week! I—ah—ahhh—" He broke off with a loud sneeze. "That is getting _very_ annoying. Forget about free time, just find that flask and get back here."

There was the sound of a Farnsworth disconnecting, and then Claudia snapped hers shut as well, scowling down at it. "Fine. If I can't have a week, I'll get Fargo and Hugo and maybe Joshua to visit all at the same time, and if we geek out, we should be able to get it done in a day or two. So _there_."

"What's wrong?" Steve asked cautiously.

"The fish is out again, and Artie's whining about the dust irritating his sinuses and making that cold he picked up worse and wants to know how soon can I get back and fix it so he doesn't have to." She shoved her Farnsworth into her jacket. "I mean, seriously, do I have to do everything?"

"Pete can't fix it?" Steve was pretty sure that Myka should be getting back sometime soon, but even if she'd been delayed, Pete should be at the Warehouse. Well, unless he'd been pulled away on a new case, which was always a possibility.

"Dude, would you let Pete within ten feet of sensitive equipment?" Claudia asked. "And Myka still hasn't made it back from Dubai. Plus, she's not really that much better with electronics than he is. And neither is Leena." She shook her head. "Come on, let's go find the flask so I can get back and patch that thing for like the five-billionth time. Did the organizer or the general or whatever the leader of this of this thing is called have anything useful to tell you?"

"Well, I now know where the spare equipment is kept." After being subjected to a ridiculously patronizing twenty-minute lecture about how this was the premiere reenactment site in the greater whatever region, and just because he was new didn't mean that they didn't expect him to take it seriously, and so on. He was just as glad that Artie's call had distracted Claudia and he'd been able to speak to the man alone, or Claudia would probably have said something that would have gotten them kicked out before they'd even started their search. And why they—or he, anyway—couldn't just show his badge and get some straight answers out of these people, Steve still didn't understand.

"Sounds good. Which way?"

He gestured for her to follow, heading across the reenactment grounds and ignoring the lunatics running around them waving fake weapons and yelling. "Fargo is your friend from, uh…what's it called? Eureka, right?" he asked as they walked. Claudia was generally the one who told him about past cases, although one of the others occasionally mentioned something here or there, but while he wasn't about to claim that he had all the details down pat, the name Fargo was unusual enough for him to place it.

She nodded. "Right. He works at Global Dynamics."

"And he was the guy who accidentally woke up the AI version of this Hugo person when he was upgrading the computer systems here, and Hugo was—is—an ex-Warehouse agent computer whiz type."

He hadn't phrased it as a question, but he appreciated her nod of confirmation. "Although it wasn't really AI Hugo," she added after a minute. "It was the left half of his brain that the zoetrope sucked out and jammed into the computer. We fixed it, though."

"Okay, yeah, you did explain that." Not that he'd totally understood the explanation, not then and not now, but hey, what else was new? "I don't remember you ever mentioning anyone named Joshua, though. Is he another ex-Warehouse agent, or someone else from Global Dynamics, or what?"

"What?" She gave him an odd look and then shook her head quickly. "No, he's my brother."

Steve didn't even try to keep the surprise off his face. "I didn't know that you had a brother." Of course, he generally tried to avoid asking personal questions of his coworkers, but as talkative as she was, he was surprised that it hadn't come up. "Does he live around here? Or, well, around the Warehouse?"

Another shake of her head. "He's at CERN. You know, the big research place in Switzerland? He's a physicist."

The fact that her brother was a scientist was way less of a shock than the news of his existence was, but anything that he might have said in return was cut off by a loud bang.

Claudia flinched, her hands going to her ears at the same time that his hand dropped to his weapon. "What the hell was that?" she asked.

He was trying to pinpoint where the sound had come from when a second report sounded from a different direction. Equally loudly. But no one around them seemed at all concerned, and he had seen a few old cannons earlier, although he'd assumed at the time that they were no more operational than the 'rifles' that people were running around with. "I think they might be cannons."

She lowered her hands from her ears. "Okay, well, I officially hate reenactments. Where's the prop tent?"

"The three Union ones are right there," he said with a wave of his hand. "Except that we're not allowed to call them prop tents, they're 'supply' tents." He marked the appropriate quotes in the air as they stepped inside the first and grinned at her eye roll. "You start on this side; I'll start on that side?"

"Works for me."

At least they had a basic description of what their artifact looked like this time and how it affected people. Not that it made searching through piles of old junk go much faster, but at least Steve didn't have to worry that he was overlooking something. Of course, the sheer _number_ of flasks scattered among the uniforms was giving him a headache—well, that or the intermittent cannon fire, anyway, it was hard to say at this point—but at least he didn't have to worry that he might brush his hand across a button and give himself a third eye or something.

They'd finished with the first two tents and moved on to the third when he heard Claudia groan, and he turned to find her digging out her Farnsworth again. When she saw him looking, she shoved it at him. "Here. You talk to him this time. Once again, why couldn't _I_ have gone to Dubai?"

Steve shook his head and flipped it open.

"Talk to me, Goose," Pete greeted.

"Goose?" Steve could handle Spock—at least he knew the source—but he had no idea where Pete was getting Goose from. And why couldn't Pete just stick to the 'Jinksy' that Claudia had tagged him with, anyway? He liked that one.

"Yeah, I'm Maverick," Pete said. "Get it?"

"No."

"Tower, this is Ghostrider, requesting a flyby?"

Steve shook his head.

"You know, it kind of takes the fun out of things if I have to explain it."

"Oh, I can see how that could happen."

"Right." Pete sighed. "Did you find Grant's flask?"

"Sort of. There's just, uh, one thing."

"One? Try hundreds," Claudia said, leaning over his shoulder. "Hundreds and hundreds of _things_."

He passed the Farnsworth back to her and went back to searching. Let her deal with Pete; she was better at it.

The cannons sounded again.

"Ah!" Claudia yelped before turning her attention back to Pete. "We're looking for a flask at a Civil War reenactment. A place where all flasks go _to die_. A world where _everyone_ has a flask."

Steve's grin was interrupted by yet another bang.

"Hey, that sounds like cannon fire." Pete said.

Another bang, another flinch. "Brilliant, there's that college education rearing its head. What do you want?" Claudia demanded. "Why did you call me?"

"Oh, right, urgent. Do you know where Artie keeps the tiny little marshmallows? Because he won't tell me."

Steve turned to stare at the Farnsworth for a moment and then went back to searching. Pete was a good guy, he really was, but….

"Like he needs marshmallows, right?" Pete laughed.

"Hey, Pete?"

Steve wasn't sure what Claudia did—he didn't hear her say anything else—but Pete cleared his throat quickly. "Yeah, you know, that Artie, he's looking pretty good these days, don't you think?"

Claudia snapped her Farnsworth shut. "I don't care what Artie says, I am putting _ringtones_ on this thing."

* * *

><p>"There's the last prop tent," Steve said with a shake of his head, indicating a closed canvas tent a bit past the rest of the Confederate encampment.<p>

"It's a _supply_ tent," a passing reenactor said, frowning at them both.

"Yeah, right," Steve agreed, ignoring Claudia's grin as they headed across the grass strip and ducked under the flap. "If it isn't here, one of them has it on him."

"And I so don't want to deal with that." Claudia shook her head and let the flap close behind her. "I call this side," she announced.

That left him with an extra couple of trunks to search, but he didn't really care as long as it meant that they could get out of here today. It would be a little weird if Grant's flask turned out to be in the Confederate tent, but he agreed with her: it would be much better than having to search the lunatics out there.

"So, if you're drafting your brother to work on the fish can I assume that means that he knows about the Warehouse and artifacts and stuff?" he asked as he knelt and opened the first trunk along the back of the tent. Clothes, clothes, more clothes…a few of them had flasks attached, but not many, and none were the right flask. "I thought that that was against the rules." Not that there was anyone that he'd really wanted to tell before leaving Jersey, but Mrs. Fredric had made it pretty clear that he wasn't to discuss his reassignment with anyone.

She shrugged, pulling guns—carved, not real—out of the trunk that she'd opened. "Joshua getting artifacted is the reason that I found the Warehouse in the first place, so it's not like he needed much telling."

Steve stared down into the next trunk for a moment. It wasn't that he wasn't curious, but asking someone personal questions was generally an invitation for personal questions to be asked in return, and if there was one thing that he didn't like talking about—that he _didn't_ talk about—it was his past. Asking if her brother knew about the Warehouse was one thing, asking for details….

"It's kind of complicated, but awhile back, right after he got his PhD, Joshua was teaching at a university," she continued, taking the decision out of his hands. "He was trying to decide on a new line of research when found the work that Rheticus had been doing on teleportation."

"Rheticus?"

She dumped the guns back into that trunk and moved on to the next. "Sixteenth century mathematician. Studied with Copernicus, big into trigonometry, and he invented and built a couple different instruments for mapmaking and astronomy. One of the instruments he built while working on his theories of teleportation was a compass, and one of Joshua's old professors helped Joshua get his hands on it." She paused. "Well, actually, Professor Reynolds turned out to be MacPherson in disguise, but we didn't find that out until later, and it doesn't really matter for this story. Anyway, Joshua thought that Rheticus' math was good, even if no one else believed that teleportation was possible—a couple of the other guys in the research program used to give him hell about it—and he was trying to find the funding to keep his research going when Artie showed up."

"The compass was an artifact?" Steve asked, moving on to trunk number three since number two had been full of bandages and fake saws and a decided lack of flasks.

"Yeah. Joshua thought that Artie was there to interview him for a grant, but instead Artie told him that people were after the compass and that Joshua had to hand it over so he could hide it where no one would find it. Translation: in the Warehouse, although Joshua and I didn't know that at the time. I'm pretty sure that if Joshua had gotten the compass to work, MacPherson _would_ have stolen it—my guess is that that's why he gave it to Joshua in the first place, so Joshua could figure out how to use it—but…." There was the thump of a trunk shutting and then a moment of rustling. "Joshua didn't want to give it up without trying at least once. I wouldn't have either, but the thing is, he didn't have all the rules. He thought that he did, but when he activated the compass, he got pulled into the interdimensional space and ended up stuck there." Steve heard a click as she opened another trunk, and then, "Ooh, lots of flasks."

He glanced over, but she was already starting to sort through the trunk in front of her quickly, and he decided to finish with the rest of the trunks on his side in case there was a second hoard of the things around here somewhere. "So, what, after he got stuck Artie took you to the Warehouse to help figure out how to get him back?" he asked after a minute. That didn't really sound like Artie, but given how stubborn Claudia could be, if her brother was trapped, she probably hadn't given him much of a choice.

"No, he said that Joshua was dead and just…walked away." She made a disgusted sound. "Him and everyone else. I'm the only one who didn't believe it."

Steve twisted to look back at her again, recognizing the anger and pain in her expression as she stared at the tent wall. He wasn't sure what he could say, or if he should even say anything, but after a few moments of silence, she shook her head and resumed her search and her story.

"It took me…awhile…but I finally managed to recreate his experiment on my own."

"Wait, the one that made him disappear?"

She shrugged. "Okay, so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing that I've ever done, but it's not like it was my best idea, it was just my _only_ idea. He disappeared in a flash of light when the electric field reached its peak; I was hoping that maybe a second surge would bring him back. Except that I didn't know about artifacts back then so I didn't know that I needed something to take the place of the compass since it got trapped in the interdimensional space too, and it didn't work. Or it mostly didn't work." She waved a hand. "That part is kind of complicated. It did some stuff with linking and energy transference and whatever that affected both Artie and I since we were there the first time. Me more than him since I was also there the second time, but…." She shook her head. "It doesn't really matter, and it'll take too long to get into here anyway."

Doubly so since he probably wouldn't understand a word of it, Steve added mentally, although if she thought the same thing, she was polite enough not to say it. Most of the time when he was talking to Claudia, it was easy to forget that she wasn't a perfectly normal twenty-year old. But when he actually paid attention to the things she could do—like replicating a PhD's experiment all on her own or hacking into whatever government agency she happened to feel the need to at any given moment—it could be a little intimidating.

"The point is that recreating his experiment definitely didn't get Joshua _back_," Claudia continued, "which is when I decided that maybe the others were right and I'd lost it. So I shut everything down and checked myself into the nearest psych ward." She dropped a brown flask back into the trunk and rocked back on her heels. "Damn. I don't see it. Do you want to double check while I go through the last one over here?"

There had been nothing but old blankets and another set of fake weapons in his last two trunks, and he nodded and moved to take her seat while she flipped open the remaining trunk on her side. More fake medical stuff, from what he could tell from his position, and it didn't take her long to dig through it before shutting the lid with a bit more force than necessary and shifting to a wooden folding chair. "What changed your mind?" he asked after a minute. "About the…." He trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase it.

"About the crazy thing?" She snorted. "They got to 'schizophrenic' on their list of possible diagnoses, and I decided that they were all idiots and that I wasn't crazy after all. I ended up checking myself out and tracking Artie down, and between the two of us and Pete and Myka—they're the ones who figured out that the rule that Joshua didn't know about was hidden inside the compass—we got him un-stuck."

"You showed up at the Warehouse and he agreed to help you just like that? How did you convince him that your brother wasn't dead?" Steve paused. "How did you even _find_ the Warehouse?" He'd barely been able to manage it with directions and GPS.

"There was hacking involved. You'll be much happier if you don't ask of what. Plus I spent some time crashing large portions of the South Dakota electrical grid until I could narrow down exactly where all the extra power was being diverted. The Warehouse is not a light load."

He paused, flask in hand—not Grant's, unfortunately—and turned to look at her.

"And after I got there, maybe possibly some breaking and entering. And electrified handcuffs. And I suppose kidnapping, too, if you want to get technical."

She was totally serious. He shook his head.

"What?" She gave him what was probably supposed to be an innocent look, even if it failed miserably. "He was being _really _uncooperative."

'He' presumably being Artie, and Steve thought about saying something before deciding that he should just finish searching the trunk.

"Anyway, it worked out okay. And after it was all over, Joshua got a job at CERN, but I didn't have any particular plans. Or any plans period, really, since while I was trying to get him back I was just doing enough website work to keep the rent paid and food in my stomach and not worrying a whole lot about the future. But then after the whole hoopla with the interdimensional space, I realized that what I really wanted was to be a Warehouse agent." There was a pause. "So what about you? What's your story?"

Steve felt himself tense, although he tried to smile through it. This was exactly why he didn't ask questions about other people's pasts. If he had any sense at all, he'd have just left the subject entirely alone. "You know my story. ATF, Jimmy Hendrix's guitar, and the first time I saw Artie's eyebrows."

Claudia gave a quick laugh, and then, "No, I mean like before all that."

"Before all that is the past." He tried to keep his wariness off his face as he turned to look at her. "Which is where I'd like to keep it." He really, really hoped that Claudia wouldn't push too much. It wasn't something that he talked about, and he'd be a lot more blunt about that if he had to be, but he didn't want to. Plus there was the fact that if he shut her down too hard, she was perfectly capable of hacking into his ATF records just to be annoying, and once that was done she could find out whatever she wanted.

"Ah. Well, word of warning? At the Warehouse, the past doesn't always stay in the past. Literally. Did I mention that we have a time machine?"

She raised her eyebrows, fingers drumming lightly on a silver flask, and he found himself smiling as well when he realized that she wasn't going to push at all. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" He glanced back into the last trunk one last time. "Look, it isn't here."

Groan. "Are you _sure_?"

"Silver flasks, gold flasks, wooden flasks, flasks with flaps, flasks with knobs…." He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. After hours of nothing, the trunk had looked so promising, too.

"I get it. Lot of flasks."

"Look, we've been through this trunk twice, and none of them match the description." He pushed himself to his feet. "So why don't we just shut this whole shindig down—" which would have the added advantage of shutting up those damn cannons too—"we'll flash badge, and we'll body search until we find it."

"Because that's not what we do?" She stood to face him. "Warehouse agents…use stealth. We're stealthy. I mean, can you imagine how these nut-jobs will react when they find out that somebody has Ulysses S. Grant's flask? Guys carrying real bayonets!"

"Exactly, and if one of them drinks from it and starts believing that he's fighting that war while he's carrying a bayonet…." He shook his head. "Artie said that at the last reenactment—"

"I know, the reenactor with the flask went postal and stabbed two soldiers," she interrupted. "I _know_. We still use stealth. Just really, really fast stealth."

There were days when he very much wished that he couldn't tell when someone was telling the truth. "So, then what's the plan, oh stealthy one?"

"I—listen, I don't exactly have a p—oh."

She stepped away, and he frowned as he turned to follow. That was not a comforting expression.

* * *

><p>Olivia. Claudia reminded him of Olivia. The thought had been running in circles through his mind since he'd seen her in that stupid wig, and he was just as glad that she had volunteered to drive them back to the airport. Well, 'volunteered' meaning 'pestered until he'd given her the keys and rental agreement be damned,' but in all seriousness she was just as good a driver as he was, and as distracted as he felt, it would have been beyond stupid <em>not<em> to hand over the keys.

"Jinksy, you're next," Claudia said, elbowing him lightly.

"Hm? Oh." He stepped up to the airport counter, showing his badge and checking his bag quickly. She'd just printed her ticket off at the kiosk—he'd given up wondering how she always managed to get them tickets on whatever the next flight back to South Dakota was—and it occurred to him as he stepped away from the counter that he should have made her put her mini-Tesla in the lockbox with his gun and Tesla. Too late now, though; he wasn't about to suggest that she pull out a weapon in an airport. And she'd managed to get it through security on the way out here so hopefully she'd be able to manage the same on the way back.

Security didn't give the contents of her bag so much as a second glance, and Steve shook his head as he followed her through the metal detector. He didn't even want to know.

"I'm going to go grab a bagel or something," she said as they claimed a couple seats by their gate. "Do you want anything?"

"Grab me a water?"

"Sure, back in a few. Can you watch my bag?"

He nodded automatically and tried not to stare as she hurried off, moving among the other passengers easily. The red as opposed to black hair and Claudia's extra couple of inches had been enough to hide it before, but now that he was looking, the resemblance was all too obvious. And while Olivia had never had anything like Claudia's technical abilities, and Claudia would probably never manage Olivia's immediate ease with people, their basic personalities were…a lot alike. A frightening amount alike, actually.

She returned just as the agent at the desk began pre-boarding, and he accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah." That got a decidedly disbelieving look, and he shrugged. "I'm just tired. Don't worry about it."

She didn't say anything else so he couldn't tell whether she believed him or not, but he kept up the pretense until they were in the air and she'd fallen asleep. Against his shoulder again rather than the window shade, but since the doctor had confirmed that while the cut was healing well, it would be a while longer before the bruising cleared up completely, he couldn't blame her.

Besides, as long as she was asleep he could get away with staring, and after a moment of mental debate, he went ahead and took advantage of it. He just didn't know how he'd missed their similarities before. If nothing else, he'd _seen_ Claudia's eyes light up in the same way that Olivia's used to when she was angry or about to do something a little crazy, and it should have triggered a lot more than a vague sense of familiarity.

He sighed, shifting his gaze to stare at the back of the seat in front of him. Olivia had been gone for ten years now. About that, anyway. It sounded like such a long time—hell, it was a long time, over a third of his life—but there were days when it still didn't feel real. That he woke up and his first thought was that he needed to talk to her about something. And the grief when he remembered that it couldn't happen might not be as sharp as it used to be, but it was still present. Moreso than his grief for his parents, despite the fact that they'd been gone a much shorter amount of time. But then, Olivia was the one who'd supported him through everything, had stood up for him when—

He cut off that train of thought automatically as one hand closed tightly on the armrest. What was done was done; there was no point in thinking about it now. But maybe…. He glanced down at Claudia. Maybe he _would_ tell her a little bit more about his past.


	15. Friends

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. _

_This starts immediately after Queen for a Day._

* * *

><p>It wasn't until Claudia dug a bottle of water out of her bag and handed it to him that Steve realized that he'd talked himself nearly hoarse, and he accepted it with a nod of thanks. And then flushed as his stomach grumbled in the silence, although when he glanced over at the clock, the reason was pretty obvious. "Shoot. I'm sorry, it looks like I made us both miss dinner." He shook his head. "I never talk that much." Not about <em>anything<em>, never mind Olivia. Hell, he'd apparently been so busy talking that they hadn't even noticed Artie leaving, and that was saying something.

"No worries. I think maybe you kind of needed to." Claudia gave him a half-smile and then shook her head. "Besides, if she didn't save us leftovers, and she probably did, Leena will still have sandwich stuff in the fridge. Or I have might have a sandwich or two in here somewhere."

He pushed himself to feet as she started to reach for her bag again. "Nah, come on, let's just go into town and get something there instead. Maybe Chinese? My treat. Figure I owe you for letting me talk your ear off."

She shook her head again. "Chinese sounds good, but you don't owe me anything. You're my friend. Besides, how many times have you sat and listened to me chatter? And I _do_ talk that much."

Her going on at length tended to involved artifacts or old cases or whatever project she was currently working on, not awkward stumbles through various parts of her life story, but she genuinely didn't seem concerned so he settled for a smile and a light tug on her sleeve. "I want to, then. Come on."

She nodded at that, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Lead the way."

Despite the torrent of words that had escaped while they were in the Warehouse, he found himself suddenly at a loss for what to say as he drove them towards Univille. Apparently he'd used up his speech quota for the week because even casual comments weren't coming. Fortunately, Claudia didn't seem to mind the silence, and when it started to drag out a little at the restaurant, she filled it easily enough with a story about Mata Hari and Artie and bad poetry. Followed by the full version of Pete's attempt to free Mrs. Fredric, which was more than absurd enough to put grins on both of their faces before they got back to the B and B.

"Hey, guys, we were starting to think that the Warehouse ate you," Pete greeted when they finally got back. "You missed out on homemade ravioli."

"I put two plates in the fridge, if you're hungry," Leena said.

"We went into Univille for Chinese," Steve said. "But thanks, I'll probably have some for lunch tomorrow." If one of the others didn't get to it first, anyway.

"Did you bring us back any Chinese food?" Pete asked at the same time.

Myka looked up from her book long enough to toss a pillow at him. "Seriously? You ate a plate and a half of ravioli plus most of the garlic bread not two hours ago. You cannot be hungry." She paused. "Hey, no, give that back."

Pete grinned, leaning back a little further in the recliner with her pillow now tucked behind his head. "Oh, it's mine, now."

Steve knew perfectly well that it was just a trick of the light that put a shadowy beard on Pete's face, but…. He glanced down at Claudia, who must have seen it as well because her teeth were hooked on her lip as she looked up at him, and they both broke into laughter at the same time and then turned and headed for the stairs.

"What?" Pete called after them. "What did I s-ow! Myka!"

"I told you to give me back my pillow."

"Come on, let's see what's on TV," Claudia said.

Steve's first inclination was to decline since with everything that had happened today, he could use a little time to meditate, but the idea of being alone didn't exactly appeal to him right now. "Just make it comedy, all right?"

"Deal."

* * *

><p>Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead, sinking down to sit on the edge of his bed. Of course, this was happening now. That was just the way that his luck worked. He was finally getting back on an even keel after talking about Olivia for the first time in years—even if he really had needed to talk, he'd had a hard time sleeping these past few nights—and now this hit him.<p>

He tabbed his phone off and put it on his bedside table, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor. He needed to relax. The fact was that if it weren't for the timing, he'd probably be happy about this turn of events. Or…well, not so much _happy_, maybe, but at least it wouldn't be more than something to have over and done with and then he'd never have to think about it again. After all, it wasn't like he wanted to continue to play absentee landlord. Hell, he hadn't wanted that when he'd been saddled with the job in the first place, and now that he was another fifteen hundred miles away it made things even more ridiculous. The timing was just lousy.

He evened out his breathing with the ease of practice, but despite his best efforts, peace wouldn't come. After twenty minutes with his thoughts racing in a dozen different directions, none of which he wanted to go in, he ended up pushing himself back to his feet and heading for the door. He needed to talk to someone, preferably Claudia. Unfortunately, her door was shut, her room dark, and after tapping lightly on the door and getting no response, he turned around. "Damn." It just figured.

"Hey, Jinksy," Pete called as Steve walked past his open door. "Want to join us for a movie? We're trying to choose between _Rear Window_ and _Alien vs. Predator_."

"For the last time, I am not watching _Alien vs. Predator_," Myka said, and when Steve looked past Pete, he saw her stretched out on the other side of Pete's bed. "Hitchcock's movies are classics; that's just _bad_."

"No, thanks," Steve said with a shake of his head before Pete could do more than open his mouth to protest Myka's declaration. "But do either of you know where Claudia might be? Her room is dark, but it's awfully early for her to be asleep."

"I think she caught a ride with Artie back to the Warehouse after dinner," Myka said. "I don't know what for, though."

"She probably had the uncontrollable urge to do more inventory. I wonder if there's an artifact for that."

Steve grinned and shook his head. "I'm sure there's one somewhere. Thanks."

"Is anything wrong?" Myka asked as he turned to go.

"Yeah, you've been awfully quiet the last couple days," Pete added. "Quiet even for you."

"I'm okay. I just want to talk to her." It wasn't that he didn't trust Pete or Myka, but they didn't know anything about Olivia or the rest of it—Claude hadn't breathed a word about anything he'd told her, not that he was surprised about that—and he didn't feel like explaining right now.

Two variations of 'drive safely' were called after him, Leena adding a third as she passed him on her way up the stairs with a bowl of popcorn, and he shook his head and headed out to his car. The differences between here and the teams he'd worked with at the ATF still surprised him sometimes.

Artie was scowling at sheet music when Steve got to the Warehouse, and Steve took his life in his hands for a moment to get general directions about where Claudia had been going before the man re-immersed himself in his music.

"Claude?" he called as he made his way through the aisles, the sound of the piano fading as he moved deeper into the shelving. "Claudia, where are you? Hello?"

"Up here!"

Her voice was coming from a few more aisles to his right, and when he came around the last corner, he found her standing on the back of a large golden elephant waving some sort of metal stick in the air. For a moment, he debated asking _why_ she was standing on the back of a large golden elephant waving a metal stick in the air, but then common sense reasserted itself. "You know, that does not look like inventory," he said instead. Not that he'd really expected to find her doing inventory, but it was a good enough conversation opener.

"We've been inventorying for most of the last week, in case you've forgotten," she retorted. "And I had an idea."

"About what?"

"A better way to deal with the surges we get in here. What's up? Did we get a ping?" She groaned. "Don't tell me that the intercom is broken, that thing is ten kinds of annoying to work on."

He shook his head. "No, I, uh, I just wanted to talk to you." The fact that he could have used the intercom to call her hadn't even occurred to him. "It can wait if you're…." He waved a hand. Obviously she was in the middle of something; if she wasn't, she wouldn't have come back here after dinner. If he'd been thinking, he'd have just waited until she got back to the B and B.

"Talk to me about what?" She sat down on the elephant's back and started to slide towards the ground, and he reached up to catch her automatically. He had no idea how she'd gotten up there in the first place, but there was a decent distance between its back and the Warehouse floor.

"Really, it can wait if you're busy," he said when she was back on planet Earth. Aside from the stick that he'd already noticed, she had a black box with numbers flashing across a small screen clutched in the other hand, and while the numbers didn't mean anything to him, they must to her.

"No worries, I'm not having much luck getting the readings I wanted anyway. I can pick it up again tomorrow. Talk to m—duck and cover!" She suited actions to words, scrambling behind the elephant, and Steve mimicked her actions and took shelter behind a large crate on the other side of the aisle as purple lightening crackled in the air, struck the ground between them, and then dissipated.

"Man, that is _so_ annoying," Claudia muttered, crawling back out with her eyes fastened on the black box in her hand. "I've been trying to get a decent charge through here for the last half an hour, and the best one I see I'm not even focused on."

"Wait." Steve pushed himself back to his feet and wrapped a hand around her upper arm, pulling her up as well. "You were standing on that thing waving a stick and _trying_ to get struck by purple lightening? What the hell were you thinking?"

"What? No, of course I didn't want it to strike me. I wanted it to strike the stick." She shook her head and scowled at the numbers on the screen.

"Does Artie know what you're doing?"

"He didn't say that I couldn't."

Steve looked down at her. He couldn't detect lies of omission any more easily than anyone else, it was only the direct ones that screamed at him, but that had been pretty ridiculously blatant. "That would be a 'no,' Claude."

"Annoying," she shot back.

"Yeah, well, I object to my friends zapping themselves, just on principal." Whatever it was that purple lightening actually did to a person, he didn't see it being good. "Find another way to get your data, all right?" He might not be able to force the issue himself, but if he told Artie, Artie would, and she had to know it.

"You're mean."

"Lie."

She didn't object, probably because it was true, turning to store her wand and the box on a shelf by the elephant before looking back up at him. "Fine, if you're going to be annoying about how I get my data, I've definitely got time to talk. What's up?"

"I…." He shook his head, suddenly at a loss for words. He knew that he wanted to talk to her, but now that he was here, he wasn't quite sure what to say.

Her eyes narrowed, all traces of irritation disappearing. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No. No, it's…." He dropped his eyes to the floor for a moment as he tried to organize his thoughts. "Nothing's wrong. Really. I just…." He shook his head and looked back at her. "What are your parents like?" He couldn't remember her ever saying anything about them, but then, he hadn't said much directly about his either.

She stared for a minute and then shrugged. "I don't know. Dead."

"Oh." He hadn't seen that coming. Although he probably should have, given what she'd told him about being the only one to try to get her brother back after he'd disappeared. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"It's fine. It's not like I talk about it much. There isn't much _to_ talk about…their car hit a patch of ice, went over an embankment, and that was it. And I was pretty young when it happened, anyway. I barely remember when I lived with them and not Joshua. But why do you ask?"

"I told you that my mom died a couple of years ago, right? And my dad before that?" He was pretty sure that he had during the Hand of Glory case, but then again, he'd also been hallucinating octopuses at the time so who knew.

She nodded.

"Well, it's…." He broke off again, and after a minute, she tugged his sleeve lightly.

"Come on. I've got a place where we can talk that'll be way more comfortable than standing in an aisle."

"Where are we going?" he asked as she turned deeper into the Warehouse. He couldn't help but be a little glad of the reprieve, even if he been the one to come here.

"My spot. I fixed it up for when I crash here some nights. Plus it's a place to keep my in-progress projects and diagrams and stuff so they don't get scattered everywhere."

"Do the others know?"

"Probably. I mean, I don't know if they know where it is, but we all have our own spaces. Artie's got his room, obviously, Pete's got the Pete Cave, Myka's got a recliner in the library—"

"Library?" Steve interrupted.

"Well, that's not what it's really called. It's the book section; the Warehouse has first editions of like everything. You have to read a lot of them wearing purple gloves and sometimes goggles, but Myka loves it there." She shook her head. "I've never actually managed to follow Leena to wherever she goes when she wants some time by herself here, but I'm sure she's got somewhere too. You're the only one who still needs to find a spot."

He shrugged. It wasn't like he had that much stuff to put anywhere, anyway.

She mimicked the gestured and then ducked between two large statues and he followed, only to find himself in a small cubby surrounded on the other three sides by shelving units and with wiring strung overhead, a few pieces of canvas thrown over that to block a good amount of the overhead light. The majority of the space was taken up with a workbench, and tools and diagrams hung from all of the surrounding shelves with the remains of unidentifiable electronics scattered on the floor below them but there was also a sleeping bag, a couple of pillows, and a familiar backpack at the back. Claudia dropped down at one end of the sleeping bag, pulling two cans out of a small refrigerator that he hadn't even noticed and passing one over.

"Thanks," he said as he settled in as well. Not that he wouldn't have preferred beer right now, all things considered, but soda was good enough. "How long have you been working on this place?"

"A while. It's not perfect, but it works pretty well for what I need. So why'd you want to know about my parents?"

"Something came up that made me think about mine. I don't do that a lot."

"What?" She tilted her head. "I'll fix, it if I can."

He shook his head with a half-smile. "It's not that kind of thing. When Mom passed…well, aside from arranging the funeral and then waiting for everything to get through probate, for the most part there wasn't a whole lot that I actually had to _do_. Probate took forever since they hadn't updated their wills pretty much since I was born, but after that I moved the bank accounts into my name, sold the truck to the first person in town who responded to the ad, donated her clothes and the usable stuff in the house to the nearest charity, and that was that. Except then there was the house itself."

"You didn't want to sell it?" she guessed.

He snorted. "More like I didn't want to deal with it at all. Raccoons got into the attic and did a number on the place while it was sitting empty, and that was the least of it."

"Raccoons like the little grey guys with the masks? They're cute."

"Spoken like someone who has never tried getting one out of her house. The things are menaces. Fortunately, it was too late in the year for there to be any litters, but all of the insulation needed to be replaced and some of the wiring too. And then there was the rest of it. Dad might have tried to keep his smoking outside—or at least he claimed that he did, anyway; I never saw much evidence of it—but it didn't work, and after he died, Mom didn't even try to clean things up. The realtor I talked to pretty much said that the whole house needed new carpeting and a complete reseal and repaint before anyone would even take a second look. And that if I was serious about selling I should consider redoing the kitchen and bathrooms too." He shook his head, remembering the garish color schemes. "Everything was straight out of the 80s and with the house so far out of town, even putting it on the market really cheap 'as is' wouldn't have guaranteed a sale."

"You couldn't just leave it and wait until someone bought it? I mean, I guess you'd have had to get one of those realtor-lock things, but people leave houses empty when they're trying to sell them all the time."

"Remember what I said about the raccoons getting in while it was sitting empty through probate? Once they find a place they like, they keep coming back, and with no one there to stop them, eventually they'd have gotten in. And they'd have dropped litters the next spring and just made things even worse." He shook his head. "Anyway, I'd been transferred to a new team a month or two before and couldn't exactly take a lot of time off, definitely not enough time to get anything done myself. I was trying to figure out what to do when one of the women my mom used to work with came to talk to me. She and her husband had to move out of their place pretty quick…some kind of financial trouble, medical bills or whatever after their youngest was born, I think. I don't know, I never asked for details. Anyway, her husband is a contractor, and the way it ended up working out was that she and Dan and the kids moved in, and they got way reduced rent while he got it all fixed up. I'd planned to sell it when it was done, probably to them, but then the economy tanked and banks weren't loaning anybody anything so they just kept renting. It wasn't the best solution, but they dealt with any problems that came up and just told me who to pay afterwards so it was all right. I mean, the house was paid off years ago so it's not like I needed the money."

"So what's wrong, then? Are they moving somewhere else?"

"No. I just got off the phone with Mary maybe half an hour ago, and they've finally got all the financing in order to buy it."

She frowned. "But that's what you said that you wanted, right? For them to buy it."

"It is." He rubbed his forehead. "It is."

"Wow, that was convincing."

He shook his head. "No, really, I don't want to keep the house. But…."

She scooted closer, nudging his arm lightly. "What's wrong, Jinksy?"

"I don't want to go back there." That was the root of the problem, and he could feel his face coloring even as he said it. He knew how stupid it sounded. How stupid it _was_.

"I don't understand."

He sighed, looking upwards for a moment. "Have you ever lived in a small town?" He frowned. "Well, aside from Univille, I guess. Did you grow up in one?" He hadn't realized it until just now, but he didn't actually know where she'd called home before the Warehouse.

She shook her head. "No way. I mean, it wasn't New York or anything, but there were more people in the high school that I went to than there are in Univille, and it was just one of four in the city."

"Well, I did. It fit—still fits, probably—pretty much every small-town stereotype there is. And it was a really, really lousy place to be any kind of different." He elbowed her gently. "Hell, there was a little redhead two or three years behind me in school, and I know she got picked on a bunch just for that."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "I figured things out pretty early—I can tell when I'm lying too, and the whole not liking girls thing was pretty obvious—and not that I wasn't already enough of a freak because I could read lies, but after that…." He shook his head again. "I can't even count the number of times that I got the crap beat out of me just for walking down the street. Olivia too, because she wouldn't leave me to fight them alone." Claudia had already heard that part, but he was still trying to figure out how to explain the rest of it, and she didn't seem too concerned about him rehashing old details. "Mom and Dad, though," he continued after a minute, "I don't even know how to explain their reactions."

"Not good?" she guessed.

"Not so much. I mean, don't get me wrong, it could have been a lot worse. A couple of the guys I met in college…." He trailed off with a shake of his head. She didn't need to hear about David being thrown out at fifteen or about the scars that Alan had tried so damn hard to hide. "But even if it wasn't as bad as it could have been, it wasn't good either. Mom never accepted it; she spent twelve _years_ convinced that I was 'just going through a phase.' Right up until she died, every time I went home she was always trying to set me up with these 'nice girls' that she just happened to run into at the supermarket or the hairdresser or wherever."

"Uh…."

"Yeah." If the situation didn't have him quite so off balance, he would have smiled at her expression. Claudia might not win any awards when it came to tact, but at least she had a solid grasp on reality. "I guess that was one positive for the small town thing," he finally said. "There were a really limited number of women there who hadn't grown up with me, and the ones who had already knew damn well that I wasn't interested. And the others picked it up from the gossip pretty quick." He shook his head. "Dad was almost worse, though. I mean, she, at least, kept the first aid kit stocked, but even through the worst of it, his solution was to stick his fingers in his ears and close his eyes and pretend that nothing at all was going on." He snorted. "No, Dad, I don't really want to throw a football around. In fact, I've got two black eyes, a bloody nose, and at least three busted ribs, so what I'd really like is a ride to the damn hospital." It came out more harshly than he'd intended, and he took a deep breath, flattening his hands against the fabric of the sleeping bag. Again, things could have been a lot worse. The fact that his parents—who'd grown up in the same small town that he had—had only been in denial wasn't so bad, all things considered. And he'd had Olivia. She'd been worth a thousand of anyone else.

"You think it's going to be like that if you go back?" Claudia asked.

"Hm?" He shook his head. "No. No, I went back twice between Olivia's funeral and Dad's and then a couple more times before Mom passed, and for the most part everyone just ignored me." He wasn't exactly a scrawny teenager anymore, which probably helped. "But when I'm back there, that's all that I can think of, and I hate it."

"Do you want company? Artie will say no, but I can talk him into letting me go with you, if you want."

He did, more than he cared to admit, really, but after a minute, he shook his head. "Thanks, but I think it's probably something I need to do myself." As much as he didn't want to. "Besides, I might need your help convincing Artie to give _me_ a week off."

"It takes a week to sell a house?"

"Well, not when you already know the buyers. Even with all the lawyer stuff that'll probably only take a day or two. But there are still some boxes in the attic that I'm going to have to deal with, and a few other things too." Graves to visit, equilibrium to regain…. He shook his head. "I just think I'll need a week."

"Well, don't worry about it. Ask, and if he says no, tell me and I'll get him to change his mind. Or I'll just get you plane tickets a week apart and say that those were the only flights you could get so too bad for him."

He managed a quick grin at that. "You would, too. Thanks, Claude. A lot."

"No worries. You want to hang out here for awhile longer or head back to the B and B? I think Pete and Myka were arguing about whose turn it was to pick a movie as I was heading out. They won't mind if we jump in halfway through."

"If we got back now, you'll still work on coming up with a better way to get your data tomorrow, right?"

"I'll let things gel for a few hours and see what pops up," she agreed with a roll of her eyes. "Especially if someone's going to be an annoying tattletale."

"Good."


	16. While You Were Gone

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. Real life is evil, but I'm writing when I can._

_This chapter takes place during _3…2…1….

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><p>Another lousy play, complete with fumble, and Steve shook his head and picked up the glass sitting in front of him, tossing the last of the liquid back as the screen cut to a commercial. The presence of this bar just down the street from his hotel had more to do with why he was staying in the city and not in Dan and Mary's guest room than it probably should have, but the only people likely to complain were those at the rental car agency. And if they wanted to charge him for the extra couple hundred miles he'd put on the car driving back and forth, well, he couldn't really bring himself to care.<p>

He'd been out to the house twice so far: on the morning he'd flown in to pick up the half-dozen boxes—or, rather, snap-close plastic bins, hence their survival through the raccoon incursion—from the attic that he hadn't dealt with after Mom's funeral and then today for lunch after he and Dan and Mary had finished signing the paperwork. And he'd made a separate visit into town to the cemetery yesterday. Mary would have invited him for another meal if she'd known that he was around, but the last thing he'd wanted was to see another person after that.

"Another?" the bartender asked, gesturing at Steve's glass.

"Why not?" After all, he'd walked here from the hotel, and he didn't have anywhere to be tomorrow. Especially now that he'd done everything in town that he needed to. He certainly wouldn't be going back to go sightseeing considering that the place hadn't changed much since he'd been back for Mom's funeral. Of course, it hadn't changed much since Olivia's funeral, either. Hell, from everything he remembered, it hadn't changed much since his _grandmother's_ funeral, and he'd barely started school when she'd passed. The biggest transformation that he'd seen on his drive down Main Street to the courthouse was that the shutters on Mama Rosa's had been repainted in red instead of green, and he suspected that even that had been a subject of great debate among the long-time residents.

The bartender took his glass and headed for the tap, and Steve shook his head. Town might not have changed, but the house had. And it wasn't just the paint job on the outside, either. He'd managed to put off a grand tour when he'd picked up the boxes, citing the need to get back to the city and checked into his hotel, but Mary and Dan had insisted on showing him around today, and between the walls they'd knocked down and the painting they'd done and everything else, he'd barely recognized the place. As much as he was glad that they were happy there, he could have quite happily lived the rest of his life without seeing his childhood room done over in pink and purple butterflies for their daughter. Or Olivia's room redone in a football theme for their two sons. Or the old tire swing that the two of them had spent weeks getting hung just right from the old oak in the backyard cut down in favor of a plastic-and-metal swing set below the branches.

"You all right?" the bartender asked as he returned with Steve's glass. "Been here awhile and you haven't said much. And the game hasn't been that good."

Steve opened his mouth and then shrugged. "Just thinking. I grew up about an hour south of here, and this is the first time in awhile that I've been back." It wasn't a great explanation, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was to get into details.

That got a quick grin. "Ah, memories. That'll do it. Let me know if you need another."

Steve nodded and raised the glass to his lips. He might have been off-kilter yesterday after visiting the cemetery, but this morning he'd actually been in a good mood as he'd signed the last of the paperwork, and while the tour had damped things down quite a bit, he hadn't thought twice about starting on the boxes when he'd got back to the hotel. At first, things had been going okay…he'd pitched a bunch of his old school stuff—seriously, why had Mom saved a report he'd written about the state capitol when he was ten?—set aside the bins of Mom's china and Dad's fly fishing gear to take to Goodwill, and had been thinking that he'd be finished by the time that dinner came around when he'd opened the fourth and discovered Olivia's old school stuff. At which point progress had come to an abrupt halt. As much as he didn't need a macaroni picture frame that she'd made when she was six, putting it in the trash had been harder than it should have been, and throwing away the rest of it hadn't been any easier. And when he'd finally finished doing what needed to be done with that bin, he'd opened the next to find half a dozen photo albums.

He took a long drink. That was about when he'd left for the bar and a greasy plate of fries in place of dinner, but the idea of going back and picking up where he'd left off still didn't appeal to him.

In all honesty, he probably wasn't going to be able to bring himself to toss the albums no matter how little he liked building up material possessions. Annoying, but true, and he was seriously considering just boxing them back up and shipping them to South Dakota with the few other things that he was keeping rather than actually looking at them. It was a coward's way out, maybe, since he knew perfectly well that he _should_ deal with them now—that was half of what this not-quite-vacation was about, after all—but it had already been a rough couple days. Besides, it wasn't like there wasn't plenty of space in his closet at the B and B.

Steve frowned slightly. If he did send that box back to South Dakota, it would leave him with only one to sort through, and while he hadn't looked inside it yet, even if it was another bad one he should still be able to get through it tomorrow morning. And if he did that, it would give him all afternoon to meditate and try to regain his equilibrium, which left him with nothing in particular to do on Friday. He hadn't planned to fly back until Saturday, but there was no reason that he couldn't go back a day early if he wanted to. Maybe after another case or two he'd be feeling well enough to take a day to actually deal with those albums. Or maybe it would get lost in the mail like Pete kept talking about and the matter would be taken out of his hands.

His phone chirped just as he started to turn his attention back to the game, signaling an incoming text, and he pulled it out and checked the sender. Claudia. No surprise there; she'd known that today was paperwork day. He was a little surprised that she was texting rather than calling, but considering that he didn't really feel like making conversation, he was just as glad. He texted back a quick reply to let her know that he was doing okay—it took much more effort to get his thumbs to cooperate than it usually did, which was probably a good indication that he done enough drinking for one night—and then drained his glass once more and waved the bartender back over.

"Fill it up again?"

"No, thanks. Just the tab."

* * *

><p>Steve breathed out slowly and unfolded from his position, checking the clock as he stood. He'd started meditation after lunch, and it was still early, but not that early. By the time he'd dropped the box that he was sending to South Dakota off at the post office and left the other bins at the donation center, restaurants should be starting dinner services.<p>

He considered for a minute and then pulled out his phone. He should let Claudia—or, rather, Artie through Claudia—know that he'd be back early, and if he decided to go to the bar again after dinner, he'd be better off making the call now.

It took a couple rings before Claudia picked up, and the edged greeting of 'Steve?' rather than the cheerful 'Hey, Jinksy' he'd been expecting made him tense.

"Claude, what's wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen at the Warehouse?"

"What? No, I'm fine, it's…we got a ping a couple days ago, and Pete and Myka are working on it, but things there are getting bad fast. It's okay here, though, just…."

She trailed off without finishing, but considering what a Warehouse case getting 'bad' could mean, he focused on that. "How bad are we talking? I can fly out and meet them if they need any h—"

"No," she interrupted. "Thanks, but trust me, adding another person, especially one who doesn't know the whole story, will _not_ make things any better."

He wasn't quite sure how much 'whole story' there could be if Pete and Myka had just gotten the ping a few days ago, and he frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's complicated. And messed up. Plus this thing just zapped a whole helicopter out of the sky and my tracking—" Murmuring that he couldn't quite make out cut her off, and then, "No, Artie, I don't have any new potential targets pinpointed yet. I will tell you as soon as I do, but the dead cow and the not-an-alien-abduction from the 50s give me nothing that I can use, and with these latest targets…." She sighed. "I don't know what this guy is using for amplification, but that helicopter was a mile up which means that we're already so far beyond HG's range estimates that that I'm flying blind. My constants are varying more than my variables, and I'm looking at three places in my equations where I honestly don't know whether I should be adding, multiplying, or raising to the power of n."

Another murmur.

"Pittsburgh, Artie. Seriously, I _cannot_ give you anything better yet. If I could, I would. Look, I'm about to start another simulation, cross what we've got with every marker I can think of. It'll take twenty or thirty minutes to run, but maybe something will pop out. Have you gotten anything else out of Jack and Rebecca's file?"

The answer must have been negative because she sighed again, and Steve shook his head. "Hey, Claude, you're obviously busy, so I'm going to let you go, all right?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry I can't talk."

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you when I get back. And if you think of anything that I can do to help, call me."

"I will. Thanks."

He hung up before he realized that he hadn't actually told her that he was planning on coming back early, but given that she was obviously occupied, he wasn't about to call back. His car was waiting for him at the airport anyway so it wasn't as if he needed a ride.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Steve greeted as he pushed open the door of the B and B, only to be met with silence. It was lunchtime—the woman at the airport counter had been nice enough to find him a seat on an early flight—and the SUV and the Camero were both parked outside, but the pleasure he'd felt at the idea of not coming back to an empty apartment faded as it occurred to him that he didn't even know if Pete and Myka had finished their case yet. One of the others might have given them a ride to the airport. And if they were still on this case, whatever it was, Claudia and Artie and Leena were probably all at the Warehouse.<p>

He headed upstairs and dropped his duffel off in his room before heading down the hall, just to check. Claudia's door was shut, and so was Myka's, but Pete's was standing open and when Steve looked, he found Pete stretched out on the bed reading a comic.

Steve knocked lightly on the door-frame, and Pete lowered his comic and looked over. "Oh, hey, Steve. I didn't hear you come in. Welcome back."

The words were so utterly subdued, the complete opposite of what Steve was accustomed to from Pete, that he found himself staring.

"I didn't think we'd be seeing you again until this weekend."

"Uh, yeah, I finished what I needed to so I caught an early flight," Steve said, trying to shake off his surprise. "You finished your case, then? It turned out all right?"

"Yeah. Saved a ballpark and everything. We got back last night."

The 'saved a ballpark' part was completely true, but the 'yeah' wasn't, and Steve frowned, trying to decide if he should push. He decided against it, at least for now; it was possible that Pete was just tired and that was affecting his opinion of 'all right.' He could only tell if what people were saying was what they thought was the truth, after all. "So where is everyone?" he asked instead.

"Myka's in her room, but she isn't feeling well. And Leena had to go into Featherhead for something. We're supposed to help ourselves to sandwiches if we get hungry."

The fact that there was no sign of any sandwich around Pete was almost as worrying as the way he was acting, but Steve pressed on anyway. "Claudia? I saw the Camero around back."

"Probably at the Warehouse. I don't think she came back last night, and I didn't see her at breakfast."

"Artie's over at the Warehouse too?"

"Should be."

Steve nodded. "Well, I think I'm going to make a run over there and let them know that I'm back, then." And hope that they, at least, were acting like normal, because Pete's behavior was really starting to weird him out.

"Watch out for Mrs. Fredric," Pete warned as he turned to go.

"She's there?"

"She was yesterday night."

"Okay. Thanks."


	17. Complicated

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. This takes place after _3…2…1….

* * *

><p>Well, Artie growling at him for interrupting piano practice was pretty normal, at least, Steve decided as he made his way down to the Warehouse floor. And he was reasonably certain that there had been a 'welcome back' interspersed among the not-really-meant complaints. Steve hadn't bothered asking Artie what had happened while he was out of town, though, since the guy wasn't the most forthcoming under the best of circumstances. He <em>had<em> hoped that Artie would know where Claudia was working, but no luck there.

Steve's first stop was the golden elephant, but even though her wand-and-box contraption was still sitting on the shelf, there was no sign of Claudia. Nor was she in Ovoid Quarantine or doing any work on the heavy machinery, and he was doubling back towards the makeshift room that she'd claimed as her own when it occurred to him that they had an intercom. He had no idea why he kept forgetting that. Still, he was a lot closer to her room than to the office, so he decided to check it out, just in case.

It took him a few tries to get to the right place since he hadn't really been paying much attention to his surroundings when she'd led him there the other night, but eventually he found the two statues that hid the entrance. "Claude? Hey, Claudia, are you in here?" he called as he approached.

No response, and after a minute, he slipped inside. Still no Claudia, just her backpack sitting on the sleeping bag against the far wall.

He took another look around, making a closer examination than he had the last time that he'd been in here. The bits of metal and wire on the center table still didn't mean anything to him, nor did most of the diagrams on the walls…he was pretty sure that the one on the end was her mini-Tesla and the one beside it the Tesla grenade, but most weren't much more than line drawings with numbers scattered around. There were a couple photographs attached to wall above her sleeping bag, and he stepped closer as he caught sight of Pete and Myka laughing in one. No way to tell what they were laughing at, although the way the pictures had been arranged made it look like they were laughing at the image of Artie caught mid-rant, his arms askew in the photograph beside it. There was another of the whole team plus two men he didn't recognize that had to have been taken around Christmas if the decorations in the background were anything to go by, and then the last was of Claudia and a man about his age with their arms over each other's shoulders. Probably her brother, Steve realized as he took a closer look; their features were similar, and he was one of the unknown men in the holiday picture. Although brother or not, judging by the sweater vest, he did not share Claudia's fashion sense.

A few sheets of notebook-sized paper were taped to the metal beam hiding the mini-fridge, apparently that to-do list she'd mentioned…despite the small writing, his name drew his attention in 'Get Jinksy copies of old case files,' and the 'Convince Artie that scanners aren't of the devil' that followed made him grin. Among the listings of general repairs was a page of sectors that needed screens—with an 'and about a million more' scrawled at the bottom—a few dozen of what he thought were either inventions to build or artifacts to modify, and a couple items that had obviously been written while she was in a less-than-pleasant mood mixed. 'Inventory every damn thing in this place' being one of the major ones. Unfortunately, given that the list really was four pages long and only ten or twenty lines were crossed out, it didn't exactly give him a good lead on where to look for her. And, as he realized as he stepped back, he was snooping where he had no business being. He wouldn't have gone into her room at Leena's without an invitation so he had no business doing it here either.

He'd just stepped out past the statues and was trying to decide on the shortest route back to the office when the faint sounds of music caught his ears, and a moment later Claudia came around the corner. Her focus was on the metal tube-like thing in her hands, and he winced as he realized that the faint music had to be coming from her headphones. Currently jammed in her ears. He didn't even want to know how loud that music sounded to her, and calling out obviously wasn't going to get her attention so as she walked past without even looking up he tapped her shoulder lightly. And then he was glad that he was bigger than she was, because the elbow she did her damndest to jam into his ribs came harder than he would have believed.

"Claudia, stop!" he yelled as he deflected it. It was probably a good thing that her automatic reaction wasn't to reach for her mini-Tesla because he wasn't totally sure that he'd have been able to disarm her without risking one of them getting hurt.

He wasn't sure if she'd heard the shout over her earphones, but recognition clearly set in a fraction of a second later as she spun on him. "_Not_ cool," she snapped as she pulled her headphones down to hang around her neck. "You scared the hell out of me! And I just about hit you with the Coelaphone!"

"Sorry." He held up his hands. "You were kind of off in your own world there, and I didn't know how else to get your attention." He wasn't going to ask what a Coelaphone did; whatever it was, it wouldn't be reassuring.

Her glare held for a minute longer and then dissolved. She still wasn't exactly smiling, but at least her, "You're back early. What happened to not getting in until Saturday?" sounded relatively welcoming, and he shrugged in return.

"Finished early and didn't feel much like hanging around. Besides, it sounds like I missed some excitement here."

"Just Pete and Myka's case."

Truth, but the way that her shoulders had hunched defensively when she'd said it didn't exactly reassure him. "What's up, Claude?" he asked gently. "I missed Leena, and apparently Myka's not feeling so well, but I talked to Pete for a minute and he wasn't acting much like Pete."

She shrugged and reached up with one hand to fiddle with the headphones until the music cut off. "It was just messed up is all. Don't worry about it. Everyone will be back to normal eventually."

"You do know that telling someone not to worry about something is pretty much guaranteed to make them worry, right?"

Another shrug. "It's complicated."

"I've got time. After all, I'm supposed to be on vacation for another day." He tilted his head. "Come on, let's get out of here. Pete said that you didn't go back to the B and B for breakfast so you must be getting hungry."

"Not really."

Truth, and if she had skipped breakfast, that was even less reassuring than the way that she was acting was. "Well, all I had for breakfast was an airport bagel, so I am. I was thinking about Mexican…why don't you take a break and come with me?"

She shrugged slightly, focusing on the ground.

"Come on. I know you like their salads. We can get food to go and head down to the conservatory." He frowned. "I still don't know why Univille has a conservatory given the amount of stuff that it _doesn't_ have, but I can pretty much guarantee that it will be deserted enough that we can talk."

She looked up. "I don't like the conservatory. The last time I was there, Artie said that one of the plants was staring at us."

He stared for a moment. He had no idea what to do with that statement. However, the important thing seemed to be that it wasn't a 'no' to lunch, so…. "Maybe the park, then? It's just down the street." Hopefully there were no nosey plants there.

For a moment, he thought that she was going to refuse, but then she nodded. "Just a sec, let me drop these off."

It didn't her take much longer than the promised second to drop her headphones and the Coelaphone on the table in her room and grab her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder as she rejoined him in the aisle. She didn't seem inclined to talk, though, either on the walk up to the office or during the drive into town, and he was glad that the restaurant was mostly deserted and the staff was able to get their meals together quickly.

"So what's up, Claude?" he asked again as they found seats on a low stone wall ringing one of the fire pits in the park. "Something made you unhappy. All of you."

"It's hard to explain."

"Yeah, you mentioned complicated a couple times," he said as he dug out her taco salad and handed it over, accepting the coke she held out in return before grabbing the first of his two burritos. He hadn't been kidding about being hungry.

Her eyes stayed on her hands, prying the top off the salad container and then fumbling with the plasticware bag.

"You could start with Myka and Pete's case," he suggested. "What was the artifact?"

"A horn. Well, Joshua's trumpet, to be specific. You know, the whole 'knocked down the walls of Jericho' thing? Plus it was amplified by this crazy scientist guy trying to use it to talk to aliens which didn't help."

"That does sound complicated," he agreed.

She frowned. "What? No, not really. I mean, it made finding it a pain in the butt, and it definitely made the thing more dangerous, but we've had weirder artifact hunts."

That didn't exactly bode well for what might be the complicated part of the story, but since she was finally talking, he kept the comment to himself.

"Pretty much like usual, we didn't know what the artifact was at first," she continued. "When the ping came in, all it was was some oddness with missing people and electrical lines. Well, and half a billboard and a bridge. Pete and Myka went to Pittsburgh the next morning, but they couldn't find much to go on. Just reports of a weird sound that some witnesses heard when everything was happening. Then Artie found some information in one of Jack and Rebecca's case files about something similar happening in the early 60s. Outside of town, but close, so…."

"Jack and Rebecca were other Warehouse agents?" he guessed.

"Yeah. Jack got killed by the Spine way back when, and Rebecca took herself off the grid afterwards, but we met her when Myka and Pete went after the Spine. She just died last year." Claudia shook her head. "I guess that doesn't matter right now. I can tell you more about it later if you want to hear. But for this case, all that really matters is that back then they were on a similar case but never managed to find the artifact. And that something had crashed down right before the artifact had started disappearing things."

"Crashed down like from the sky?"

"Yeah," Claudia said with a nod. "It turned out to be a rocket. And I thought that it was kind of weird that Artie called them back to the Warehouse just to tell them that. I mean, usually he whines like nothing else about paying for plane tickets, and that's definitely something that he could have mentioned over the Farnsworth. But then when they got here, that's when he told us that Rebecca and Jack weren't the only Warehouse agents that had been after the horn, HG had too, _way_ back in the day. In fact, she was the one who'd put it on the rocket that crashed. She said that she was trying to send it into the sun, but obviously it didn't make it."

"She said…." He shook his head. "Okay, I'm really not clear on the HG thing, Claude. I know you told me that _The Time Machine_ HG Wells told you about bronzing, but then you said she tried to end the world too—and Pete told me what happened to his ex-girlfriend—but now, what, she's back in town helping out on cases?" He frowned. He'd only heard Claudia's half of the conversation over the phone the other day, and he hadn't understood much of it, but thinking back, he was pretty sure that an HG had been mentioned. And it was hardly a common name.

She sighed. "_This_ the complicated part." She spent a few minutes smashing up the chips in the taco salad, and then, "So, okay, forget about Joshua's trumpet for a minute. This isn't going to make much sense if I don't start from the beginning." Another sigh, and then a quiet, "And even then, I still don't think it makes very much sense."

He wasn't much for hugging, he never really had been, but he did nudge her shoulder lightly, and after a minute, she looked up from her salad and started talking again.

"So back in 1800-whatever, when people thought she—or, well, I guess they thought _he_—was just writing books, HG was really a Warehouse agent in Warehouse 12. Like Lewis Carroll wrote the Alice stories to hide the truth about what Alice really was, some of the stuff she wrote about were things she saw or invented or whatever too."

Steve opened his mouth to ask what Carroll was hiding about Alice and then decided that he should probably let Claudia get through one story at a time. Especially since this one was obviously painful. "Okay. And Warehouse 12 was the one active before ours, I assume."

"Right, except it was over in England. Hey, did you know that the first Warehouse was all the way back in the library at Alexandria?"

"No way. The one that burned?"

"Yep."

"Huh. That's kind of cool."

She nodded. "Anyway, from everything I've read—and I went looking for her files after she turned up here—HG was a good agent. And she did some amazing stuff. I'm not just talking about her inventions or her books, although most of those are really cool, she actually _met_ people like Tesla and Rontgen and Hoff too."

With the exception of Tesla, and him mostly because their Teslas were named for him, Steve had no idea who any of those people were, but knowing Claudia, they were probably scientists or inventors or something along those lines so he nodded again. And crumpled up the wrapping from his first burrito, reaching for the second.

"But then HG's daughter got killed in a robbery. Christina." Claudia shook her head. "She wasn't even supposed to be in the house the day that it happened, but she got sick, and…. Well, that's why HG built a time machine in the first place. To try and go back and save her."

"Damn." He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but that wasn't it. "I take it that it didn't work?" He had a feeling that he already knew the answer, and he wasn't surprised when Claudia shook her head.

"Not so much. It turns out that you can't change the past. And the time machine doesn't work the way it does in her book either so it wasn't like she could just grab Christina and jump forward past the attack. She never talked much about what happened after that, at least not to me although she might have told Myka a little more, but from what she _did_ say, she kept trying different things to get her daughter back, getting more and more desperate, and somewhere down the line another Warehouse agent got killed."

"So they bronzed her." It was an agent-gone-wrong situation, and he could kind of see where they—whoever 'they' were, he suspected Regents were involved—had been coming from, but…well, that was not how he would want to go. Or to not go, given how bronzing worked.

"She asked them too. She told us that she thought the future would be better." Claudia frowned and then shook her head. "I don't know, maybe she did. But it turned out that she had another plan too."

She fell silent again, digging around in her salad, and Steve realized that for all the smashing it up that she'd been doing, he hadn't actually seen her take a bite yet. "Claude, whatever happened, it's not going to do anybody any good if you make yourself sick."

"I know. I'm just not hungry. Sorry."

He shook his head. "Do you want some churros?" He pushed the bag towards her. "Come on, deep fried batter coated in cinnamon and sugar, who wouldn't like that?" She might not be in Pete's league when it came to junk food, but she definitely wasn't anti-sugar, either.

She rolled her eyes but eventually dug one out and took a bite so he considered it a victory. "HG ended up bronzed until MacPherson came along," she said when it was gone. "He somehow knew her plan…I'm guessing she left clues that he found while he was a Warehouse agent, but we'll probably never know for sure. When we caught him at the entrance to the Escher Vault, he was going to tell us what her plans were, but she killed him before he could." She shook her head slightly. "Artie wasn't too happy about that, but I'm still pretty okay with it."

"Killing's not okay, Claude," he interrupted.

Her eyes were surprisingly cold when she looked up at him. "Aside from giving Joshua that damn compass, he also shoved him off a balcony, blew up Artie, and tried to take away the Warehouse. Don't expect a lot of tears from me."

There wasn't much that he could say to that, and after a minute, she continued.

"Anyway, after she killed him, HG disappeared for awhile. Well, she popped up occasionally during cases—saved my life during one of them when this jackass shoved me into a pot of let's-make-people-spontaneously-combust juice—but we could never pin her down. And then, after she saved _Artie's_ life, she suddenly announced that she wanted to come back as an agent." She paused, frowning slightly. "Actually, now that I think about it, it might just have been all of a sudden to the rest of us. I think Myka knew before. And Myka wanted her to be an agent, although Artie was dead set against it."

"What about Pete?"

She shrugged. "He didn't say much. I don't think he wanted to get caught between Myka and Artie. But the Regents ended up approving her, which means that what the rest of us thought about it didn't matter anyway, and at first things went pretty well. It was nice to have somebody that I could bounce ideas off of, and Pete joked a couple times about having two Mykas around but he didn't really seem to mind. Leena was fine, too, it was just Artie that stayed mad. And I think even he was starting to warm up to her a little towards the end, or at least he was willing to admit that she was good at the job."

"So what changed?"

"The first weirdness that we saw was when these three college guys in the middle of the Egyptian desert found Warehouse 2. Well, they woke it up and got themselves mummified alive in the space of a few hours, actually, that's what led us to the case. When we figured out what it was, Myka, Pete, HG, and Valda went to shut it down before it killed Mrs. Fredric since two Warehouses attached to one caretaker's brain is too much for one person, but while they were doing that I started back-hacking the funding for the dig. I mean, the place was buried two thousand years ago. There was no way that they just fell into it. Long story short, my trace eventually led back to the Warehouse accounts. There's a pretty small list of people who know about the Warehouse and who could have hidden a hack like that as well as she did. Before I saw it, I would have said just me and Artie, but HG picked up computers fast. Should have expected that, I guess."

"How did she know where it was? Warehouse 2, I mean?"

"As best we could figure out, she'd somehow learned the location before she was bronzed—my best guess is that some artifact passed down through the Warehouses had a map or description or something like that in it or on it or whatever—but she couldn't get to it. I mean, it's a lot easier to get to Egypt now than it was in the nineteenth century. And given that she said she'd been getting more and more extreme back then, they might have been watching her closer too. But by the time that I figured out where the hack had come from, HG had already scrambled Myka and Pete's Farnsworth so I couldn't reach them. Artie figured it out too, from the lost signal, and decided to fly to Egypt to fix it—without telling anyone which makes me wonder why he whines at _me_ when I feel like disappearing for only an hour or two—but she managed to escape with the second half of the Minoan Trident before he got to them."

"What's the Minoan Trident? And while I'm thinking about it, who's Valda? Another Warehouse agent?" How many people had been at the Warehouse before him—at least in the last year or two—that he'd never heard of?

"A Regent. Or he was, anyway, he didn't make it out of Warehouse 2. And the Minoan Trident was the first weapon of mass destruction. If you jam it into the ground three times in the right spot, voila, welcome to a new ice age. HG already had the other half, she'd found it back in the day and attached to her daughter's casket. Which, can I just say, creepy, but once she had both parts together…."

"I'm pretty sure that I haven't noticed any unusual amount of ice," Steve said after a minute. "You got to her first?"

"Barely. Pete and I weren't even there, we were at Kelly's office trying to deal with that damn compact, but from what little Myka said, it was a close thing. And Artie ended up shot before Myka talked her down. Well, technically, HG reflected a bullet wound back into him, but it works out the same."

"Damn."

"The Regents took HG away right after that, but that's when Myka decided to leave. She said that she couldn't trust herself anymore, since she hadn't been able to tell that HG was a bad guy. Her letter said that she thought that she'd always be second-guessing herself if she stayed. We all tried after that, talked to her, emailed her, tried to convince her to come back, but…."

Steve wasn't sure what to say. None of them had ever really said anything about why Myka had left, and he certainly hadn't asked, but he'd always assumed that it had been connected to a particularly bad artifact or something like that. He'd seen a few ATF agents who had to take long leaves or even burned out entirely after an especially bad case, after all. But a friend trying, quite literally, to end the world…that was new. And worse. "So how did she—HG—factor into this case?" he finally asked. He'd think more about the rest of it later.

"I don't know what the Regents did with HG's body, but they somehow put her brain in this little projector thing. I don't have a better description; I didn't exactly get much of a chance to examine it. And it's not really her brain, I guess, since the thing is only about the size of a Magic-8 ball—plus I really hope that's still inside her body—but it is her consciousness. When Artie figured out what the artifact was and that she'd gone after it back in the day, the Regents sent the device, meaning HG, to help."

Steve winced. Given what he'd just learned, he didn't see that ending well.

"Pete was angry from the start," Claudia continued. "He didn't want anything to do with her. I mean, between terrifying Kelly into taking off and then Myka leaving too, I can understand it, but even when we were all in the office, he kept acting like she wasn't even there. I think Artie probably felt the same way, but since he was able to send the thing off to Pittsburgh with Myka and Pete instead of having to deal with her himself, it was a little easier for him. And Myka...HG was her friend. She hasn't said much about it since she got back, at least not to me, but I'm pretty she's still kind of messed up about what happened, and HG being around couldn't have helped. Not to mention that she's the one who got stuck refereeing between HG and Pete which isn't a job that I would want under _good_ circumstances." Claudia shook her head. "You're probably right about her not feeling well now, but I can guarantee you that it's not the flu."

"And what about you?" he asked after a minute.

Her shoulders twitched. "I don't know. I mean, I like HG. Liked?" She shook her head. "I don't know. Most of the time she was here, she was a good friend. She _was_; nobody's that good an actor. But what she tried to do—what she spent a hundred years bronzed in order to do—it's just…." She went silent for a minute. "Life sucks sometimes. Believe me, I get that. And losing a kid has to be about as bad as it gets. But how do you come up with 'end the world' as a solution? How do you use your friends to make it happen? I knew a couple people at the institution who were on suicide watch, one who…well, it wasn't a good enough watch, and even if I can't ever see doing something like that, at least I can understand where he was coming from. With HG, I just _don't_." She looked up at him. "Why would someone do that?"

He nudged her shoulder again and then pushed the churros closer. "I can't explain, Claude. Believe me, I would if I could, but sometimes I don't think there is an explanation."

"I know. It just is. And now she's gone again so maybe it doesn't matter anyway."

"Pete said Mrs. Fredric was here last night. She came to pick her up?"

"Yeah. Pete and Myka put the projector in temporary storage, but Mrs. Fredric appeared as they were on their way out to pick it up." There was silence for a minute, and then, quietly, "Everybody always goes away."

Steve tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes widened slightly, and then she shook her head. "Never mind. Forget I said anything." She pushed herself up off the wall. "Excuse me, I need to go find the restroom."

Lie, but she was already halfway across the fire pit before he could call her on it. And when she returned, she was asking him about his trip before he could do more than open his mouth to repeat the question. About the house, the flights, how paperwork had gone…Claudia could talk circles around him when she wanted to, and she pretty clearly didn't plan on giving him an opening to get back to the earlier conversation. For a few minutes, he thought about forcing the issue, but given what had happened he could understand her wanting to let it lie for a while. He could always ask again later. And at least she was munching on churros in between rapid-fire questions.


	18. Nuclear: A New Case

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>After lunch, Steve ended up leaving Claudia at the Warehouse and heading back to Leena's. For one, he had laundry that he needed to do, and for another, he was getting worried that if hung out with Claudia much longer, she'd pass out from lack of oxygen from the pace of speech she'd set to keep him from asking any more questions. And that was saying something considering how she could run on normally.<p>

Unfortunately, the mood hadn't magically improved at the B and B during his short absence. Myka still hadn't emerged from her room, Pete had come down to get a sandwich, at least, but his response to Steve's question about anything good on television was a shrug, and while Leena did offer him a smile when she returned, even that was subdued and she retreated to the kitchen almost immediately. For his part, after tossing his laundry in the washer, Steve ended up locking himself in his room and digging into the Warehouse manual that had been sitting neglected on his bedside table in the hopes of escaping the gloom. Unfortunately, the first chapter he opened to was on artifacts that destroyed one's internal organs in a variety of unpleasant ways, the second was on artifacts that caused plagues, and the third was…well, he wasn't sure what the category actually was, he closed the manual when he saw a sketch of what he thought was a rabbit. That was inside out. He knew perfectly well that it had to be coincidence, but it didn't exactly make him feel better.

Dinner was equally depressing. Artie dropped Claudia off but left again almost immediately with only a couple sandwiches claiming something important to do at the Warehouse, and while Myka managed a 'welcome back' for Steve when she finally put in an appearance, she barely touched her spaghetti. Claudia was back to picking at her food too, and scariest of all, Pete didn't even attempt to monopolize on that fact. Normally he'd have tried to steal their garlic bread just on principle; today, nothing. Steve tried making conversation with Leena, but he'd have to be an idiot to bring up what had happened while he'd been gone, he had no interest in talking about what _he'd_ been doing for the last week, and there was only so much time that two people could even feign interest in a discussion about the weather.

He went back to the Warehouse after dinner more in an attempt to escape the mood at Leena's than out of any striking desire to do inventory—he really needed to find someplace else in Univille to spend his free time—and it was a good thing that he wasn't hoping for company because although Claudia rode back with him, she disappeared as soon as they arrived. Fortunately, despite what had happened with the manual, he managed to find a relatively unbloody artifact sector, and the sheer oddness of the various items was enough to take his mind off things. He was halfway through inventory on his second row of shelves and feeling slightly better about life when Artie's voice on the intercom calling him and Claudia to the office interrupted him.

"Did we get a ping?" Claudia called, coming out of the aisles from the other direction as he reached the stairs.

"I don't know." He paused, waiting for her to reach him. He hoped so. If they got out of here for a few days, maybe things would be back to normal by the time they returned. And maybe Claude would start acting more like herself if they got away for a little bit too.

"What do you two know about the Dayton Project?" Artie asked as they entered the office.

"Never heard of it," Steve said.

"It was part of the Manhattan Project," Claudia said at the same time. "They did some stuff for the detonators, I think."

Steve frowned. "Manhattan Project as in nuclear bombs?"

"Yes, and yes, the Dayton Project developed the device that triggered nuclear detonation after critical mass was reached," Artie said with a nod. "They've recently moved some things from storage to a museum for some new exhibit…." He pawed through a stack of papers on his desk quickly. "Here it is. The History of Nuclear Development. But since they've begun putting together the exhibit, there have been several odd occurrences."

"What do you mean by 'odd occurrences'?" Radiation poisoning didn't sound like something that Steve wanted to investigate too closely, proximity-wise, at least, and he knew a lot of the original sites for nuclear development hadn't been all that concerned about little things like containment.

"Two museum patrons and two members of the staff have been mysteriously rendered mute in the last five days, and the exhibit is scheduled to open to the general public early next week."

"You sure that it's not just laryngitis or something?"

"It is _never _laryngitis," Artie said with a scowl.

Steve debated pointing out that he'd just read about a trumpet that caused laryngitis plagues this afternoon, but since that was an artifact, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Artie collected the papers on his desk quickly, scooping them into a folder and shoving it at him a moment later. "You only have a couple days, so you'd better hurry. And stop by Leena's on your way and tell Myka and Pete to get a good night's sleep. They've got an early flight tomorrow."

"Where are they going?" Claudia asked.

"I haven't decided yet."

So obviously Artie thought that getting everyone out on cases and their minds off what had happened was a good idea too. Steve nodded slightly. "Come on, Claude. Do you think you can get us on a flight tonight?"

"You're joking, right?"

"And now everyone's glaring at me," he muttered as they left the office.

For once Claudia didn't sleep on the plane, instead spending most of her time alternately typing and scowling at her computer screen. She didn't seem to mind him reading over her shoulder, but aside from the fact that the diagrams she was looking at seemed to be for another computer, they didn't mean anything to him.

"So how did you know about the Dayton Project?" Steve asked when she finally looked away from her screen.

"Simon—one of Joshua's friends back in grad school—was doing some stuff with radioactive isotopes, and the Manhattan Project was the starting point for a lot of his research. He talked a couple times about the all different divisions that were actually part of it, and that was one of them."

"Remember any details?"

She shrugged and then shook her head. "Not really. It was a long time ago, and I was never as interested in it as I was in Joshua's stuff. Probably because no one would let me play with radioactive material."

"Fair enough. So we get in, crash at the hotel tonight, and go to the museum when it opens tomorrow?" Given that it was supposed to be 'The History of Nuclear Development' they should be able to get a decent background from the exhibit itself.

"Sounds like a plan."

"If it comes up, would your brother remember more about this Dayton Project? I mean, if he knows about the Warehouse already, it might save us some time doing extra research."

"Maybe. He and Simon and George were always talking about their dissertations, but like I said, it was a long time ago. And he and I…." She trailed off with a shake of her head. "We don't really talk too much about the Warehouse."

"Why? Well, security reasons, obviously, but—"

She shook her head again, cutting him off. "I'm not worried about people cracking our encryption, but he always liked theory more than practice anyway, and losing all that time to interdimensional space didn't really help. He's cool hearing about artifacts after they're contained, but…." She shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'll ask him if we need to."

Steve nodded and then glanced up as the intercom came alive, a flight attendant reporting that they were preparing for landing. "I take it there's a car waiting for us?"

"Waiting for you, at least. Which, I would like to point out again, is totally unfair."

"Poor kid."

The fact that her response to that was sticking her tongue out at him kind of proved his point, but he wasn't going to say anything. Especially since that was the most like herself he'd seen her act since his return.

* * *

><p>Nothing about the exhibit really stuck out to Steve. The walls were covered with diagrams—or, rather, not precisely diagrams, but poster-size blowups of what looked like handwritten equations and sketches—and photographs, and a few models were scattered around on podiums protected from museum patrons by glass cases. Pretty much like every other exhibit in the place. "Anything?" he asked Claudia quietly.<p>

"Not really. Most of this stuff is behind glass." She shrugged, knocking a knuckle against one of the cases. "I guess the staff people who got artifacted—or at least presumably got artifacted—could have touched it while they were setting things up, though."

"But that doesn't explain the patrons. Although they were with were two of the first VIP groups that were let into the exhibit…a class through the local college and some kind of World War II honorary thing, I think Artie's notes said. Maybe they got in before everything was behind glass."

"Or maybe they just moved the glass. It's not like there's much security."

Steve nodded. He hadn't even had to show his badge yet; he and Claudia had just stepped around the ropes cordoning off the exhibit room and so far, no one had objected. Probably because they hadn't actually seen anyone. "Good point. I guess we should swing by their places and ask some questions."

"Might as well check with those staffers too, since they haven't come back to work yet."

"Sounds good. But after lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I am. And you have to eat, Claude." She might be acting a little more like normal, but as of breakfast her appetite still hadn't returned, and unless he was very much mistaken, she hadn't slept a whole lot last night either. "Did you do this when Myka left too?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wondered if tactlessness was catching, and her scowl didn't exactly leave him expecting a useful answer.

"I don't know; I didn't have anyone fussing at me every time I turned around back then," she snapped.

"Claude—"

"Seriously, Steve, I will be fine. It messes me up, but it's not the first time that I've watched someone go away so do us both a favor and _drop it_."

He paused. That was what she'd said yesterday at lunch. 'Everybody always goes away.' She hadn't been willing to talk about it then, and he doubted that she'd be any more amenable now, but it wasn't something that he was likely to forget. "You've still got to eat," he said after a minute. "You're not going to be much use if you pass out on me."

"I've never passed out in my life."

"Lie."

Her scowl deepened. "Okay, fine, _once_, but I was having the life sucked out of me by an interdimensional vortex at the time so it doesn't count. You're annoying."

"And you're a pest, but that's not really the point. Come on." There were only a few lunch options around the museum, but the soup and sandwich shop on the corner wasn't bad. And then they headed for the first victim, David Michaels', house. Or David Michaels' apartment, rather.

He was pretty young, Steve noted as one of his roommates called him to the door. Claudia's age at best. And judging by the whiteboard he was carrying, his voice still hadn't returned.

"Agent Steve Jinks, ATF," Steve introduced himself, showing his badge. "This is my partner Claudia Donovan. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

Michaels gave them a strange look but stepped back and waved them in, scribbling 'I can't really talk right now,' on his whiteboard.

"We know," Claudia said. "That's what we need to talk to you about."

'A throat infection?'

"Where you got the throat infection," Steve corrected. "I understand that you were at the museum a few days ago?"

He nodded.

"And you visited the new nuclear history exhibit? The one that isn't open to the general public yet?"

Another nod.

"Did you happen to touch anything while you were there? Maybe one of the models or something?" Claudia asked.

He frowned and then shook his head.

"You're sure? Did you see anything unusual while you were there? Or maybe smell something strange?" A pause. "Fudge?"

That got an even odder look, and Steve tried not to wince. "Do you mind if I ask why you went to the museum and that specific exhibit?"

It took Michaels a few minutes of scribbling, and then he turned the whiteboard back around again. 'Physics class. Professor knew a visiting lecturer.'

"Did you feel dizzy at any time during your visit?" Claudia asked.

A shake of his head, and then a moment more of scribbling. 'You think something at the museum made me sick?'

"We're checking into a couple different things," Steve said.

'Why does the ATF care?'

"We're on loan to another department at the moment." There was silence for a minute, and then Steve glanced at Claudia for a second before looking back at Michaels. "Well, if you're sure that you didn't touch anything or feel strange at any point during your visit, I think that's all the questions that we have for you right now. Thank you for your time."

He stared and then shrugged and stood, opening the door for them.

"Well, that was kind of a bust," Steve said as they headed down the front steps.

"He wasn't lying about not touching anything?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, but it's harder when people don't speak out loud, and I can't get any kind of read off a whiteboard at all."

"Damn. The same thing is going to be true of the other two, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Although I guess if the staff guys did touch something, they'll be more likely to tell us about it. Since, you know, it's their job."

"As opposed to a college student doing something on a dare or whatever," she said with a nod.

* * *

><p>"Wow, that was kind of useless. I don't suppose you've come up with any brilliant ideas," Steve said as he climbed back into their rental car after the last interview.<p>

"Not so much. I mean, the staff guy was at least hanging those diagram-slash-notebook-page things, but I'm thinking the 88-year-old veteran probably wasn't prying into too many glass display cases. And Mrs. Lopez works in the gift shop."

"Well, I guess nothing says that a diagram can't be an artifact," Steve pointed out. "And Michaels and Mr. Hommat and maybe even Mrs. Lopez might not have noticed it if they just brushed against it on their way to something else." He winced slightly. "Unfortunately, I'm thinking that randomly dousing diagrams with purple goo wouldn't go over well."

"Well, there is an aerosol spray that we could use, but we'd have to get Artie to overnight some to us."

"Aerosol purple goo?"

"Yep."

"Why am I not surprised?" He shook his head. "Do you want to swing back by the museum and take a closer look at the diagrams, just so we've got some idea what we're up against? We could ask if they've added anything else new to any other exhibits, while we're at it."

"Oh, good point."

He nodded. The Dayton Project part might be the only new _exhibit_, but there was no guarantee that an older exhibit hadn't gotten a recent addition and the timing was just coincidence. As much as he didn't need to hear another lecture from Artie on coincidences. "You want to talk to the desk staff, and I'll start looking through the diagrams? Someone who looks like a college student asking questions will raise fewer eyebrows than me flashing a badge."

"Sure. I'll meet you in the exhibit when I'm done. Uh, here, take the Farnsworth with you." She dug it out of her bag quickly. "If you can get Artie to take a look, he might recognize something."

"Sounds good." It was late enough in the day that the parking lot was pretty deserted, and once again, he was able to get into the exhibit with no trouble whatsoever. Did this place even have security guards? Of course, under the circumstances it would probably be better if it didn't, and he flipped open the Farnsworth quickly.

"Have you got it?" Artie demanded a moment later.

"Still looking. We think it might be one of the diagrams on the walls, and Claude thought that if you took a look, you might recognize something."

"Fine, fine, show me." He frowned. "Wait, where is Claudia?"

"She's just checking to see if any of the other exhibits have gotten any new additions recently."

"Mm." He waved a hand in the field of vision. "Show me these diagrams."

Steve turned the Farnsworth, lifting it to chest height and doing a slow circuit of the room so Artie could see everything. "Anything stand out?" he asked as he reached his starting point again.

"Nothing that I recognize. And everything looks computer-generated. If a diagram or something of that nature _was_ an artifact, I'd expect it to be an actual page from one of the original scientist's notebooks."

"All right, thanks. Hopefully Claudia will get a lead."

Artie snapped his Farnsworth shut, and Steve shook his head and mimicked the action. It had been worth a try, anyway.

He frowned and then checked his phone and headed for the entrance to the exhibit. It wasn't a small room, and the full circuit had taken some time. Claudia should have been here— "Oh, there you are. What's up?"

"I don't think that's right."

"What do you mean?"

She gestured at the diagram in front of her. "That. I don't think it belongs here."

"Right."

She looked at him. "Seriously. Look at the symbols. They don't match anything else here, and the numbers…." Another shake of her head. "It just doesn't look right."

He shrugged. "So maybe someone copied the diagram of a really bad scientist. Artie didn't recognize anything, and he thinks it would have to be an original diagram or page of notes or something like that to be an artifact anyway. A copy wouldn't work."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Claudia said with a nod, turning away from the diagram on the wall in front of her to glance around at the others. "Otherwise all of those prints of the paintings in the Warehouse would be causing some serious havoc."

"What about you, did you find anything?" Steve asked.

"Well, not exactly, but take a look at this. Remember Michaels mentioned a visiting scientist or whatever?"

"A lecturer, yeah. That's how his class got in early." He took the pamphlet she held out. "A lecturer from the Dayton Project?"

"Yep. One of the lab assistants. He was like my age at the time, and he's obviously been retired for quite a few years now, but they invited him out to do a few presentations for the opening of the exhibit."

"Think he's maybe got a few souvenirs?"

"I think it'd be worth checking out his lecture to find out. It looks like the next one is tomorrow afternoon. The last one before the exhibit opens to the public."

* * *

><p>"It changed." Claudia frowned, turning in a slow circle and then returning her gaze to the wall.<p>

"What do you mean?"

"That diagram I was looking at yesterday is gone. Remember, the bad one? This one is different."

Steve shrugged. Not that he would have noticed that the diagram in front of her had changed, but if she said it had, he believed her. "So maybe someone else noticed it was wrong."

"Yeah, probably. Wish I had a picture of it, though. Now it's going to bother me."

"Hey, do—"

"You took a picture of my notes?" a man's voice interrupted, and Steve turned to find an older man—a much older man, probably pretty close to the same age as the veteran they'd interviewed yesterday—glaring at them. And holding a gun.


	19. Nuclear: The First Shot

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>Steve heard Claudia's sharp intake of breath, but most of his attention was on the man in front of them. And the gun. From the look of the thing, it was several decades old—possibly even World War II issue—but it was obviously well cared for and the man's hands were steady. If it had just been him, Steve might have tried diving behind one of the display podiums anyway, trusting that a man who had to be nearing ninety would have slower reaction times than he did, but he wasn't about to take that risk with Claudia beside him. Not unless the situation got a whole lot more desperate, anyway.<p>

"No, we haven't taken any pictures of anything," he said instead, raising his hands slowly. "It's a museum. Right, Claude?"

"No pictures," she agreed, mimicking his actions although the bag slung over her shoulder hampered her movements somewhat. "Can you put that down, please?"

He ignored her. "What are you doing here? Are you physicists?"

"No," Steve said. "I'm an ATF agent, and she's my partner. I'm going to reach for my badge, okay?" And hope that the guy didn't ask to see Claudia's. No one had ever asked before after seeing his, but this would be a really bad time for it to be the first.

"Don't move," the man snapped before Steve could lower his hand more than a few inches. "What about you?" The gun shifted to point squarely at Claudia, and Steve fought back the urge to move in front of her. "Where do you go to college?"

"I don't. I'm his partner, like he said."

"That's my life's work," he said, stabbing the gun towards them.

Steve tensed further. Whoever this guy was, he was clearly getting more and more agitated, and judging by the finger still hooked around the trigger, if he did have military training, he'd forgotten the gun safety part. "Who are you?" he tried.

"Donald Jacobson. _Doctor_ Donald Jacobson."

Well, he was the guest lecturer they'd planned to speak to, but Steve had hoped to speak to him _after_ they'd heard his lecture. And with fewer weapons in evidence.

"That work is my legacy to my children," he continued before Steve could say anything. "I won't have it stolen."

"Okay, we've got it," Claudia said. "But if you're talking about the diagram-thing that used to be there, they took it down so your secret is safe. No need to freak." She paused. "Is that why you muted the others? So they couldn't tell?"

"Is that why I did what?"

"You know, zapped them?" she prompted. "Took away their voices? What is the artifact, anyway?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Never mind. You need to put the gun down," Steve said. The man was telling the truth about not knowing about the artifact, but he didn't like the way that the gun was shifting erratically back and forth between the two of them, and with that finger still on the trigger…. "Unless you'd like your legacy to your children to be visiting you in jail? Threatening federal agents is a serious offense."

"Not until I know that you aren't going to reveal my secrets."

"I don't know your secrets," Steve said. "_We_ don't know your secrets. Look, I had to take one science class in college, and I took a chemistry lecture. And the only physics class my high school offered was taught by a small-town football coach who spent most of his time diagramming pianos being pushed up inclined planes. Even if you told me your secret, I probably wouldn't understand it."

"But you aren't the one that recognized my work," he snapped, returning his gaze to Claudia. "What, did your teacher put you up to this?"

"Dude, seriously, did you not hear me tell you that I'm not in college? Hell, I never even got around to graduating from high school. I just read a lot. Now, would you put the gun down? You're kind of scaring me."

"I can't let my secrets be stol—"

There was an edge of insanity in his eyes as his gun steadied again, and Steve gave up on the idea of trying to talk him down, shoving Claudia hard enough to knock her to the floor behind one of the display podiums in the same instant that he drew his weapon. Both guns sounded at once.

"_Steve?_" Claudia called, her voice tinny in ears that were ringing from the sound of gunshots, and he shook his head.

"I'm fine! Stay down!"

He didn't wait to see if she listened to him, moving forward to kick Dr. Jacobson's gun away. Jacobson, clutching his shoulder and moaning, didn't even try to reach for it again, and Steve pulled off his jacket and leaned over to put pressure on the wound automatically.

Museum security finally put in an appearance a moment later, and he held up his badge before any of them could ask. "This man just attacked my partner and me, claiming some nonsense about us stealing his secrets. Call the police. And I'd suggest checking for any medication that he should be taking."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Claudia asked, suddenly beside him.

"I'm fine. Their wall probably isn't, but the gun wasn't centered on me and he didn't have enough time to adjust his aim." Which didn't mean that he couldn't have gotten a lucky shot off, but Steve wasn't going to bring that up.

"Sir, I don't care if you're an ATF agent, you and your partner are going to have to wait until the police arrive to interview you," the oldest of the security team said. "Dr. Jacobson is a respected scientist and a guest lecturer here."

"Who brought some kind of antique gun to the museum and was waving it around threatening to shoot us!" Claudia objected.

"Well, be as that may be—"

"It's no problem," Steve said. "We'll be happy to talk to them. Claude, do you have a card with Artie's number? They might want to talk to him too." He had the number on his phone, obviously, but a card looked a little more official, and the odds of them _not_ wanting to talk to Steve's supervisor, given that he was an ATF agent working a case in their town that the local PD hadn't been advised of, were pretty much nil.

"Yeah, somewhere in here, I think." She pulled open her bag and began to dig around, but her movements seemed a little less coordinated than usual, and he frowned.

"Are you sure you're okay? You didn't hit your head, did you?" He hadn't thought about that when he'd shoved her—he'd been more concerned with getting her out of the line of fire as fast as possible—but the floors here weren't exactly carpeted.

"What? No, I'm okay. I'm just…that was loud. A lot louder than the ones at the reenactment."

The ones at the reenactment, excepting the cannons, had been popguns at best, and he nodded. "Yeah, real guns are loud." Especially if you'd never heard one at close range before, which she might not have since Warehouse agents used Teslas. He winced slightly. Artie probably wasn't going to be happy about _his_ choice of weapon, now that he thought about it. Too late now, though, and he pushed himself back to his feet as a security guard with a first aid kit moved to take his place, catching Claudia's arm and drawing her back with him. The other security guards were still eyeing them warily, and he bit back a sigh. "Is there somewhere that we can wait until the police come?"

* * *

><p>"—exactly why you have a Tesla!" Artie continued. "I don't have time to be placating local police departments all over the country because one of my agents decides to get into a shootout with some senior citizen! Not to mention that incidents like this make it very difficult to keep what we are doing at the Warehouse a <em>secret<em>!"

"I—" It wasn't like Steve couldn't see Artie's point—hell, it wasn't even like he hadn't seen the lecture coming—but the fact was that he'd had years with the ATF in which reaching for his gun had been drilled into him until it was more instinct than conscious thought. Reaching for his Tesla just wasn't at that level yet. And if he'd had the time, maybe he'd have managed to make up some story for the police about he and Claude being on vacation rather than working a case that they couldn't talk about, but lying had never been his first response in any situation, and there hadn't been time to talk to Claude about it, so….

"And you still haven't found the artifact," Artie continued, obviously still wound up, "which means you're going to have to stay there and risk drawing _more_ attention to—"

"Hey!" Claudia snapped, snatching the Farnsworth out of his hands. "You don't think there would have been questions if the nut job had taken a shot at us and then randomly collapsed from electrocution? Especially if they saw a Tesla or the discharge on the security feed? At least a real gun is _explainable_. Besides, it's not like Steve started this whole mess."

It was Artie's turn to look defensive. "Well—"

"And by the way, since you're obviously so concerned, we're fine. Thanks for asking."

Artie opened his mouth and then shut it again before clearing his throat and shaking his head. "Just find that artifact and get back here. And try not to make the local news. Again."

The Farnsworth screen went blank, and Claudia snapped hers shut as well.

"Thanks," Steve said. It wasn't exactly the first time in his career that he'd ever found himself getting chewed out, although getting chewed out for telling someone to call the police was new, but that didn't mean that he enjoyed it.

She shook her head. "Ignore him when he gets like that, all right? He always gets grumpier when he's worried."

"That's reassuring." He frowned. "Was there really a security camera? I didn't notice any inside the exhibit."

"Just the one at the entrance."

"It's pointing out into the common area."

"Yeah, well, you and I know that, but he doesn't."

"Claudia."

"What? Did you want him to keep yelling at you?"

He shook his head, and she nodded slightly.

"Okay, so fortunately my laptop bounced off me instead of the floor earlier so it'll take me like five minutes to figure out where Dr. Jacobson's rental car and hotel room are. Want to sneak in and try to find the artifact while he's in the hospital? Given how paranoid he is, if he did bring any souvenirs to show at his lectures, I doubt he'll have let them out of his control."

"I'd say yes, but he was telling the truth about not having the artifact."

"You're sure?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Maybe he has it but just doesn't know what it is."

It was a possibility, and he shrugged. "I guess we might as well check, since I don't think he's going to cooperate even if the police do let us in to visit him." The man had been more than a little out of it when first responders had arrived at the museum, but he'd still found the breath to insist that Steve and Claudia not be allowed to steal his secrets. Whatever they were. His less-than-coherent ranting had gone a long way towards making their story credible in the eyes of the police, although from the way that the local lieutenant had been looking at them, none of the police were very happy about their presence. He couldn't really blame them. He really should have lied.

* * *

><p>"Yet another dead end." Steve threw the deadbolt on the door of their hotel room and then flopped down on his bed. They'd searched Dr. Jacobson's room and car top to bottom, and all they'd found was a few changes of clothes, some lecture notes—the notecard don't-forget-to-mention type, not the this-might-be-a-secret-equation type—and a couple DVDs on the history of tape or something equally thrilling. "I don't know, Claude, I really don't think he has it."<p>

"Well, what about this secret he's so determined to protect?"

Steve snorted. "I wasn't kidding when I said that I probably wouldn't understand it even if he told me. Besides, if it doesn't have anything to do with the artifact, what does it matter?"

"I want to know. You know, considering that he tried to shoot us."

Steve shook his head. "Maybe we should go back and check out the victims again. They _could_ have something else in common besides the museum. Not that it wouldn't be a crazy coincidence, but I'm thinking it's either that or start dousing the diagrams despite what Artie said."

"I'll pull what I can about them online," she said with a nod, pushing herself into a sitting position on her bed and reaching for her laptop. "It could be sort of sideways connected…a restaurant close to the museum that they all ate at after they left or something like that."

That was all but a direct declaration that she was about to start hacking bank accounts, but at this point he didn't have any better suggestions. He pushed himself to his feet. "Unless you need a hand, I think I'm going to go for a walk or a run or something." Sitting around the museum after the shooting hadn't exactly been a relaxing situation in which to regain his equilibrium, and neither had tossing a hotel room. He still had too much adrenaline in his system to meditate, but getting out and moving around should help. Besides, at least then he wouldn't be watching his partner commit a variety of felonies.

"I'll manage. I'll call you if I find anything."

He hadn't received a call before his stomach started complaining, and he stopped by a sub shop to grab a couple sandwiches before heading back to the hotel. Claudia was sprawled out on her bed glaring up at the ceiling when he let himself back into their room, and he tossed her sandwich to her and grinned. "No luck, I take it?"

"Not so much. I mean, I checked everywhere that I could think of, but there are no matching charges on any of their credit cards or through their bank accounts, no mention of any common events between their emails…."

"You read their emails?"

"What? No, that would take forever. I've got a program that scans for certain words and picks out common words between sets." She shook her head and sat up, pulling herself around to put her back against the headboard and setting the sandwich aside. "I did find a couple video clips of Mr. Hommat telling embarrassing stories at his granddaughter's wedding, a building Facebook feud between Michaels and his brother because of something Michaels told his brother's girlfriend last week, and a few pictures from Mrs. Lopez's fiftieth birthday party, but like I said, there's nothing that connects the three of them. Except for the museum."

"What about the other museum guy? Zambrowski?"

She snorted. "He doesn't even seem to _have_ an online presence except for his checking account and an email address through the museum that he hasn't used in three weeks. Who lives like that?"

"At a guess? I'm thinking anyone who's ever met you." He grinned again. "I'm not sure that _I_ feel safe online anymore."

He'd intended the words to be teasing, but she looked surprisingly offended when she responded. "I wouldn't do that. Cracking a friend's accounts is uncool."

"Sorry. My mistake." Steve held up his hands. "I skipped the class on hacker ethics." He shook his head. "We're going to have to check those diagrams, I guess, if there's nothing else. Might as well go early tomorrow before any kind of crowd shows up."

"Why not go now? We've got time before the museum closes today," Claudia said, glancing at the clock. "It's barely three."

"I know, but I still think we'd better wait until tomorrow. I don't think today's security guards would be too happy to see us again so soon." Or at all, for that matter, but they were going to have to go back at some point. He was just hoping that they'd get lucky for once and the lot of them would have the day off tomorrow. "Besides, they've probably got people in the exhibit cleaning up and patching the bullet hole right about now."

"Oh. Right." She looked away, and for a minute he thought that she was going to add something else, but she only shook her head and reached out to tap absently on her computer keyboard.

"Are you all right?" Steve asked after a minute.

"'m fine."

She only met his eyes for a fraction of a second, but that was long enough, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "You really want me to say it?"

That got an eye roll and then a shrug. "That's just a lot closer to guns than I usually get. I mean, there was the dude that got Artifact-Mata Hari'd and then you, but…." Another shrug. "And I've never actually had anybody shoot before."

"Ah." He dropped down to sit on her bed beside her, nudging her shoulder lightly. "You know, the first time that I ended up in the middle of a shootout with the ATF, I don't think that I slept for two days afterwards. Between the sound and the speed_,_ it comes as kind of a shock." No response, and he gave her another nudge. "I wouldn't have let him shoot you. You know that, right?"

She nodded.

"Good." There was silence for a minute, and then, "Come on, grab the remote. If neither of us can come up with any new places to search for the artifact, let's find something on TV and try to unwind a little. And eat your sandwich."

Claudia muttered something under her breath that he was very sure wasn't a compliment, but she handed over the television remote and started to unwrap the sandwich, so he considered it a victory.


	20. Nuclear: Testing

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>Indiana Jones part twelve, or whatever it was, hadn't held Claudia's attention very long, at least not after a long look and a disconcerting mumble about something already being in the Warehouse, anyway. She hadn't moved from her seat beside him as she pulled her laptop into her lap and began to tap away at the keyboard though, and when he glanced over to see what she was doing, she scooted close enough that he could see the screen as well. Not that the diagrams on the screen meant anything to him beyond that she was still working on whatever she had been on the plane.<p>

An offhand comment about a character quitting school reminded him of something she'd said earlier, and he nudged her arm lightly to get her attention. "Hey, Claude?"

"Hm?"

"Were you telling the truth earlier?"

"When?" She looked up with a frown. "I usually tell you the truth. You always call me on it when I don't."

"That's because it's annoying when you don't. But I meant when you told Dr. Jacobson that you never finished high school."

"Oh. Yeah, I never quite got around to graduating."

"Why not?"

"Had other things going on." She shrugged slightly and then returned her gaze to her computer. "A disappeared brother to get back, secret government installations to find, various online crimes to commit, that kind of thing."

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again. It hadn't occurred to him before, but given her age now and the amount of time that she'd been at the Warehouse—not to mention having to _find_ the Warehouse in the first place and spending some time in a mental hospital in the interim—she couldn't have been out of high school when her brother had disappeared. And not that he didn't believe that she could have graduated early if she'd wanted to, but given what had happened to his grades the semester that he'd lost Olivia, he could see her just saying 'forget it' and walking away. "I thought you said that you were taking a couple college classes online though? Did you just grab a GED at some point?"

"No, I have a high school diploma. I just happened to give it to myself rather than the school giving it to me."

"Of course you did." He didn't even know why he asked questions like that anymore.

"Seriously, Jinksy,"she said looking up again. "What was I going to get out of high school? By the time I was a teenager I could run rings around the teachers in math and science and knew it, which didn't exactly make them happy to see me, and I don't play well with others so the whole 'socializing' thing was pretty much straight out the window. Okay, yeah, I guess a few more history classes might have been useful, but it's not like there's not a handy little tool called Google that fills in the blanks pretty well. Plus this guy I work for named Artie who knows more about that stuff than any history book ever did anyway."

He ignored the second part of what she'd said. "What do you mean you don't play well with others?"

She gave him an odd look. "Exactly what I said. Kids don't really like weird, and by the time that I figured out that what I could do wasn't normal, it was a little too late to hide it." She paused for a moment and then shrugged. "Although I probably wouldn't have bothered even if I had known. Too much of a hassle. Anyway, for the most part they left me alone and I left them alone and things were fine, but I doubt anyone missed me when I was gone."

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again. Given how outgoing she was, that was about the last thing that he'd ever have expected to learn about Claudia. But then again...well, he knew better than most how kids sometimes reacted to 'different.' And the fact was that most of the people they'd interacted with on cases were his age or older. He'd never really seen her around anyone her own age.

"That's not right," she muttered after a moment, drawing his attention back to her, and he frowned as she scowled at her computer screen.

"What is that, anyway? You've been working on it for a couple days now."

"A Warehouse manual. And I've been working on it for longer than that, but I keep getting sidetracked by other stuff."

"I've got a copy of the Warehouse manual," Steve pointed out. "I'll admit that I haven't finished it yet, but I'm very sure that it doesn't have any circuits."

"I know, and it needs them. It also needs cross-referencing and a decent index and to not look like it was written a billion years ago by Sylvia Plath's typewriter and then run through Carlson's copier a few hundred times. With some tweaks I should be able to get image recognition software to translate the text across no problem, but I'd originally planned to use a power source like the ones I modified for the Teslas so there's no need to keep recharging it—assuming I can solve the whole discharge problem—and there's a limit to the amount I can shrink one of those. Even at that limit, it ends up being kind of unwieldy. Plus I still need to figure out a way to at least reference Warehouse cases where they relate to the contents, and deciding where to draw the line when it comes to adding new stuff is ten kinds of headache. I have yet to come up with an algorithm that doesn't include 'And then go check with Artie,' and even then we're going to run out of physical room pretty quickly. Memory is cheap, but real estate is harder, especially if I don't want to make this thing an inch thick."

"You'll figure something out," Steve said after a minute. "And an inch thick would still be an improvement over what we have now." It probably wasn't the most useful statement he could have made, but electronics weren't exactly his area of expertise. "But do I want to know what Artie thinks about this?"

"I try not to stress him out unnecessarily."

"Translation: he has no idea what you're doing."

She looked over, grinning. "If you want to get technical about it."

Steve shook his head.

"I usually don't tell him about my work until projects are finished; it cuts down on the moaning and groaning. Besides, to get the manual scanned in in the first place I'm going to have to rip the binding off of one of the paper copies so I can feed it into the scanner as a stack instead of wasting a year doing every page manually, and if Artie finds out about _that_, they'll hear him yelling at me from the other side of the planet."

That was entirely true, and he made a mental note to stay well away from the Warehouse when she got to that step. "I don't suppose staring at your diagrams has given you any brilliant insights about this case."

She shook her head. "Not so much. I guess we should probably call Artie and let him know that searching Dr. Jacobson's room didn't turn up anything and we're going to go ahead and douse the diagrams, though."

"Especially given the odds of running into museum security again." As much as he didn't want Artie to resume his lecture from earlier. She handed over the Farnsworth, and he was about to flip it open when his eyes caught the door off to the left on the opposite side of the room.

"What is it?" Claudia asked.

"A closet."

"Yes, Jinksy, that is a closet," she agreed after a minute. "And off that way is a bathroom, and right in front of us is a television. Does your gallbladder feel numb?"

"What?" He shook his head. "No, I haven't been artifacted. Although I still don't think that's a very good diagnostic question since I have no idea what my gallbladder is supposed to feel like. But that's what I was thinking about earlier, right before Dr. Jacobson showed up."

"Closets?"

"Well, you said that they replaced the bad diagram, right? In the museum exhibit? The replacement must have come from somewhere, and they must have taken the old one off somewhere too."

"Oh. Like to a storage closet."

"Exactly. Or some kind of back room. I mean, there's no kind of cover or whatever on any of those wall hangings, so it makes sense that they'd have a few spares somewhere just in case an accident happens. Maybe there are other items that didn't make it into the exhibit or were taken out of the exhibit or whatever stored back there too. And we know that Dr. Jacobson didn't have anything in his motel room, but he could have asked the museum to store a few things for him."

"He was a little nutty about security, and it wasn't like that hotel had the best locks I've ever seen," she said, nodding. "Although would a guy who was that crazy about his secrets have trusted them?"

"Maybe, maybe not, but it's worth taking a look, at least."

She nodded again. "We don't have long before the museum closes for the day, but we can sneak in later and see what we can find."

"We are not breaking into the museum. And _don't_ call me a boy scout," he said quickly, cutting her off before she could do more than open her mouth. "I already shot the place up earlier, as much as it wasn't my idea, and I don't want to give museum security any more heart attacks."

"And you think us sneaking around during the day will make things any better?"

"I think that as long as we've already announced that I'm an ATF agent—that we're ATF agents, which reminds me that we still need to get a badge for you—we might as well use that. Claim that we need to check any artifacts that Dr. Jacobson might have touched for hallucinogenic substances or something like that. If nothing else, it's a good excuse for us to be wearing purple gloves. Plus, if they want to see us gone as much as I think they will, they'll take us right to the storage closet no questions asked which will save us some search time."

* * *

><p>The museum intern they'd been assigned to help them with their search—David something, Steve had already forgotten the rest—was still talking, and Steve tried not to groan. He'd thought that Claudia was talkative, but this kid was ridiculous.<p>

At first Steve had thought that the guy's continual chatter had been some kind of nervous attempt at flirting with Claudia since most of his attention had been on her—although if it had been it had gone right over her head since she hadn't respond to anything with more than a vague 'hm'—but when her responses hadn't been encouraging, he'd turned his attention to Steve, and he'd been going strong for a good half an hour. At this point Steve was pretty sure that the guy just liked to chatter. Assigning him to them was obviously un-subtle revenge by the people in charge for making a mess of the place yesterday.

"Do you really have to open _all_ of the boxes?" David asked, finally breaking off his spiel on the history of something Steve hadn't been paying attention to when Steve slit open the tape on the first of four cardboard boxes sitting along the back wall. "We haven't had time to inventory everything yet, and the curator doesn't like things being moved without his permission. And that purple stuff you keep painting on…."

"We have to check into everything," Steve said with a nod. Not that he expected to find anything in this or the other three still-sealed boxes given how dust-covered the contents of this one were—it was obvious that no one had touched them in a good twenty years—but as long as they were here, they might as well be thorough. It would be unpleasant to get back to the Warehouse and find that there had been a second artifact in the new exhibit that they'd missed. "And like I said, the chemicals won't harm any of your artifacts." Despite the fact that it was the third time he'd had to repeat that statement, he had to admit that Claudia's idea of picking up some empty glass bottles and brushes from the art store last night to make 'chemical testing kits' for the two of them had been a good one . It gave them an excuse to brush purple goo on the different items in the hopes that something would react without dunking them fully in the vat. And hopefully she was right about the purple goo not being damaging. She believed it, but that wasn't exactly a guarantee.

"I've just never seen chemical kits like that," David said. "And I interned with a group doing artifact dating and authentication last year."

Of course he had. And if the deep breath he was taking was any indication, he was about to start expounding on his experience. Steve's desire to groan became stronger. "They're classified. For government work. Technically you aren't even supposed to be seeing this."

"Oh."

"We have to be thorough," Claudia put in, turning back to them. She'd done the diagrams in the room first and then started in the corner opposite Steve, and aside from the muttered responses she'd been making to David's chatter, it was the first time she'd joined the conversation. "After all, it's not every day that an almost ninety year old man takes a shot at two total strangers. Jinksy, can you take a look at this?"

"You found something?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure." She shook her head. "How's your…I don't know, French?"

He set aside his brush and the item he'd just taken out of the box and moved up beside her, looking down at the spiny object she was holding. And the faint writing on the bottom. There were only a few lines, and given that they seemed to have been melted into the glass they were pretty blurry, but…. "I think that's German."

"Okay, how's your German?"

"Considering that my high school only offered Spanish, not so great."

"Oh. Damn. Well, if Artie doesn't know some, Myka will." She tilted her head and then glanced over at David, holding up the object. "Or do you know German? Or anything about this? How it got here, any of its history, anything like that?"

David seemed to light up at her question. Probably because he'd actually been invited to talk. "I don't know any German, but that's a model of Urchin. You know, the neutron generator they designed for implosion type of atomic bombs?"

"Okay, sure, like the Fat Man type."

News to Steve, but David nodded quickly.

"Right. Apparently they called it Urchin because of how it looked, which wasn't very creative, but, well…." He shrugged. "Not very many have survived through the years, probably because they were mostly done in glass. Dr. Jacobson brought that one with him for his lecture. I guess he used to keep it in a case on his desk as a paperweight when he was teaching, and he told a funny story about how he always had it out, but for like twenty years he wasn't allowed to tell anyone where it was from so he told them he was an amateur scuba diver and then they always had questions about that that he couldn't answer. He took it with him to the first couple presentations here and passed it around, but it's kind of fragile, and when one of the spines got cracked he ended up deciding to show a picture instead."

"He did, huh?" Claudia tilted her head. "How many people would you say touched it? Just a rough estimate is fine."

"I don't know, I wasn't there, but probably not very many. He is—well, he was, anyway—going to do a couple presentations in the big auditorium for the official exhibit opening, but the first set of lectures were to different small groups to get all the technical stuff and timing and everything worked out. A few members of the staff got to go if there was room and they were on break or whatever, but I wasn't one of them."

"But you saw the presentation at some point?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, the day before yesterday for his first lecture in the auditorium, but he was using the picture."

"Hm. And did you hear about anything happening when it broke?

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe someone got pricked? Like Dr. Jacobson or one of the museum patrons?" Or maybe two museum patrons and two members of the staff, just to make his and Claudia's lives easier.

"Or maybe there were some sparks or flashes of light or something like that?" Claudia suggested.

"Sparks?" He frowned at her. "Why would there be sparks when it's made of glass? And I don't think anyone got pricked, but I know he was pretty upset and carried it down to the restoration room himself so they could try and fix the broken spine, so maybe." He shrugged. "I guess since it's back up here, they must have gotten it fixed and were just waiting for him to pick it up." He frowned. "Wait, do you think that could have done something to Dr. Jacobson?"

"You know what kind of things they kept sitting out in the labs back then," she said with a shrug. "Not a lot of containment."

"That's true. Did you know that when we get new stuff we have to test for radiation before we take it out of the intake room? The curator got a couple unpleasant surprises way back when. One was this set of boards from the New Mexico test site that made the Geiger counter absolutely scream."

"We should finish checking the rest of the items in here, just in case," Steve said before he could go into any more detail. "But I'm afraid we'll need to take that with us for further testing. Don't worry; we'll be sure to get you a receipt."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Inserting a shameless plug here for another story of mine, In Which She Was Ten for Three Years, which goes into Claudia's backstory and was written as my attempt to explain the contradiction in her age in the first season. There's no actual <em>need_ to read it since anything that Steve needs to know will eventually get filled in in this story, but if you want to know where I'm pulling some of the background stuff for her from, that's it._


	21. Nuclear: Secrets

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"You think that's it?" Steve asked as they drove back to the hotel. More slowly than normal because Claudia was holding the potential artifact in her lap and the last thing he wanted was for one of the spines to accidentally pierce one of her gloves. Unfortunately after they'd put their testing kits together last night they'd forgotten to put the container with the rest of the neutralizer back in the car, and neither of them had thought that leaving Urchin rolling around in the trunk was a good idea.<p>

"I don't know. I mean, I _thought_ I saw something when I brushed the goo on, but it was really faint. With the glass spines everywhere and the fact that the goo is purple, it could have been just a reflection. And breaking an artifact generally is enough to stop whatever it's doing and there are definitely still four mute people running around."

"Yeah, but 'generally' isn't 'always,' right? It could still be active."

She nodded.

"Plus neutralizing the shark tooth didn't fix your arm. Maybe this is a case where breaking the artifact doesn't reverse what it's already done."

She made a face. "That would suck for the people who got hit."

"No argument there, but I think I'm going to keep my fingers crossed that that's it anyway because it's not like we found anything else even vaguely artifact-like."

"Point. And dunking it may still do some good." She shook her head. "Although I'm still curious about _how_ it would work. I mean, Dr. Jacobson had it for years with no trouble, and even if he didn't let his students mess with it, he must have touched it at some point. And even if we aren't talking a full auditorium, I'm sure there were more than four people in those lectures he gave."

"Well, the kid did say that he kept in it a case. Maybe that's why it's kept quiet over the years."

"And we know artifacts affect different people differently," she added after a minute. "Or maybe they had to be doing something in particular when they touched it, something that Dr. Jacobson hasn't done."

"Maybe you have to be sane." Steve shook his head. "Did you ever find the diagram with the bad equation that you were looking at?"

"Yeah, I've got a picture of it. It's not nuclear, I'm sure of that, but I swear I've seen something similar before. It's bugging me, but I'll figure it out eventually."

They made it up to their hotel room without attracting too much attention, and Steve hurried to get the top off of the goo container and set it on the floor. "All right, let's see if this works. Be careful."

"Well, I'm not going to throw it in," Claudia returned, kneeling down and leaning over, lowering it in slowly.

"Did that just…fizzle?" Steve asked after a moment, both of them staring down into the tub of goo.

"Yeah." Claudia frowned. "I don't think I've ever seen an artifact do that before."

"The most low-powered artifact ever?" Steve suggested. "Or can things get contaminated by artifacts? Maybe it was sitting next to the real thing."

"Or cracking it did some damage and we just finished it off." She sealed the tank again and pushed herself back to her feet. "Do you want to make the rounds of the victims again, see how they're feeling?"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

><p>"Bet," Claudia said, sticking out a hand. "Worst end to a relationship buys dinner."<p>

"Deal," Steve said, taking a hand off the wheel long enough to shake quickly. "And I want steak because my last boyfriend decided that he was 'wrong' and the last time I saw him he was getting on a bus for some retreat somewhere to get cured." It still hurt more than he cared to admit, and never mind that he'd seen it coming a mile away.

"Wow. That sucks."

Claudia, never one to beat around the bush, and he smiled. "Yeah. Steak."

She grinned and shook her head. "Steak's fine by me, but you're buying."

"How do you figure that?"

"_My_last boyfriend turned out to be in witness protection from the mob."

"What?" He turned to stare at her for a moment and then dragged his eyes back to the road.

"Seriously. The last time I saw him he was being hauled off elsewhere by scary guys with US Marshall badges and guns."

"And I say again, what?"

"The mob. You know—"

"I know what the mob is," he interrupted. "What the hell were you doing hanging around mob guys?" And okay, maybe that had come across as a little more protective than he had any right to be, but in his time at the ATF he'd seen the results of a few mob operations and the remains of a few informants. It was never pretty and nothing that Claudia should be anywhere near.

"Well, he was already in witness protection when he moved to Univille," she said with a shrug. "I mean, why _else_ would anyone move there? And it's not like he was actually in the mob, he was just doing some IT stuff for some guy and saw some things that he wasn't supposed to." She frowned. "I'm not sure why the mob wouldn't have their own IT guys, I mean, it is the twenty-first century, but apparently they don't." Another shrug. "Anyway, we met when I was picking up some stuff at the hardware store, and we went out for a while, but we—Warehouse we, this time—were all kind of on edge after the whole MacPherson thing, and I sort of broke my own rule and ended up digging into his background a little further than I should have. And when I did, I found out that he didn't _have_ a background, which was when I blew his cover and made him have to move."

"Huh." Steve considered for a moment. "Okay, yeah, I guess I'm buying steaks." He shook his head. He really shouldn't make bets like that with Claudia; the weird stuff that happened around the Warehouse seemed to guarantee her wins. "But I still think we're both in better shape than Michaels' brother's girlfriend. I mean, damn, sleeping with her best friend? And his brother was the one to tell her?"

"Hell of a way to start a Facebook feud," Claudia agreed.

They'd been heading up the stairs to talk to Mr. Michaels again when they'd heard the arguing, and when the substance of the argument had become fully audible…well, after a quick peek in the window to confirm that Michaels had been one of the ones screaming, they'd both decided to go find someone else to question. His vocal cords were clearly working again; no need to intrude. And if it turned out that they needed more details about what was happening when his voice had stopped working, they'd go back later. _Much_ later.

"Third house on the left?" Steve checked as he turned down the narrow drive. They'd been this way just the other day, but then, they'd been several places the other day.

"Yep. Mrs. Lopez."

"Of the fiftieth birthday party."

"Right. But don't mention that because we aren't supposed to know about that."

Steve nodded.

Mrs. Lopez opened the door at their knock and greeted them with a smile. "Hello, Agents. So good to see you again."

"Well, I guess your voice has returned."

"Just this morning. I was having a late breakfast, and I felt my throat tingling, and…." She shrugged. "Mysterious ways, I suppose. Oh, you're welcome to come in. Can I offer either of you a cup of tea?"

"Sure, that would be great," Steve said after a quick look at Claudia. "Do you mind if we ask you a few more questions about the day that you lost your voice?"

"If you'd like, I suppose. This way."

It only took a moment for them to get situated in her sitting room. "So what happened right before your voice disappeared?" Claudia asked. "I know we were asking about the museum before, but I mean right before it happened."

"Well, it wasn't too long after I visited that exhibit you were asking me about," she said with a nod. "I was at my birthday party—my sister and the girls from work took me out after our shift; the whole reason we went to the lecture is because Susanna and Marie had to work an extra hour and we were waiting for them—and I'm afraid I might have had a little much to drink because I never talk about…well, those things."

She colored slightly as she said it, and Steve decided that he didn't really want to know.

"But then all of a sudden my mouth was moving and no sound was coming out," she continued. "At first I thought it had something to do with the alcohol, but when I was still having trouble the next morning, I called my doctor."

"And had that ever happened before?" Steve asked. "Being unable to speak after having a few drinks?" Most people slurred their words, they didn't go mute, but then again, stranger things had happened.

"No, never." She shook her head. "It sounds a little silly when I say it now, but I had been drinking, so…."

"No sillier than anything anyone else has ever done," he said with a shake of his head.

"And you feel perfectly fine now?" Claudia asked. "No sore throat, no difficulty breathing…?"

"Nothing like that. I did talk to my doctor and he wants me to come in tomorrow for a quick check, but he thinks that whatever it was must have run its course. Apparently viruses are like that."

Steve glanced over at Claudia again. "Well, I think that's all we need. Do you mind if we call you if we have any other questions?" They hadn't bothered to ask before since no voice made talking on the phone difficult, but...

"Of course. You have my number?" She shook her head. "You're with the government; of course you have my number."

"We do. Thanks for your time," Claudia said, standing.

"And we're glad you're feeling better," Steve added as she walked them to the door.

* * *

><p>Steve tapped his fingers against his forearms, staring at the container holding Urchin. They hadn't located Mr. Zambrowski, but Mr. Hommat's voice had returned as well, so the odds were good that they'd managed to find and neutralize the correct artifact. As pathetic as its reaction to the goo had been. But he—and Claudia, who had disappeared in search of some kind of cable that apparently wasn't available in Univille but that she thought she could find here and save on shipping—were still at a loss for how the damn thing worked. Mr. Hommat had lost his voice at his daughter's wedding, less than twenty-four hours after his attendance at the lecture as well, but other than that none of them seemed to have much in common.<p>

Mr. Hommat had been giving a speech, Mrs. Lopez had been dining, or at least drinking, with friends…they still knew next to nothing about Mr. Zambrowski, but assuming the twenty-four hour window held true for Michaels he'd been about to start a fight with his brother. Which meant that two of them had siblings, but that wasn't exactly a glaring red flag.

"Antimatter!"

Steve hadn't even heard Claudia's key in the lock, and he bit back his surprise as he turned to look at her. "If you bought antimatter at the hardware store, you're walking back to Univille."

"What? No. I bought sixteen feet of cable." She held up a bag and then knelt down to stuff it into her duffel. "Which was way more of a hassle than it should have been, by the way. But I was thinking about that diagram again, and I'm pretty sure that the equations were for antimatter. From the _forties_. I mean, investigation got big in the fifties—antiprotons and stuff; somebody somewhere got a Nobel Prize for it—but if that was really Dr. Jacobson's research, it was pretty advanced for its time. They've gotten a lot further now, that's actually what Joshua's working on, but I can see why he would have kept it a secret back then."

"Secrets." Something about that fit with what he'd been thinking about a few minutes ago, and Steve looked back at the container again. "Hey, do you think that's it?"

"Do I think what's what?" she asked, sprawling out across the end of the bed.

"Well, I think we can safely say that Dr. Jacobson isn't one to tell secrets, right?"

"Uh, _yeah_."

"But Mrs. Lopez went mute when she was talking about something with her girlfriends that she didn't want to tell us about, it happened to Mr. Hommat while he was telling stories at the wedding—some of which his daughter would have preferred that he hadn't, I'm guessing— Micahels was _definitely_ spilling a secret to his brother's girlfriend…."

"So maybe if they spilled the beans on something they weren't supposed to within a certain amount of time after touching Urchin," Claudia said with a nod, "it fixed things so they couldn't say any more."

"Two of them definitely got hit within twenty four hours; I'd say our odds are good that all four did," Steve added. " And the whole nuclear program was pretty insanely secret. Wouldn't something like that be enough make an artifact?"

"The paranoia around it might, sure. We've definitely seen weirder. I'd think Artie would have found it if someone in the area went mysteriously mute back in the forties, but maybe if it was created at the end of the war, this is the first chance that it got. I'm still not sure why it stayed active after it was broken, but…." She shrugged. "Like you were saying earlier, different artifacts behave differently."

"We should probably check the records from back then again anyway, though. Or ask Artie to." Since they probably weren't computerized and that kind of research was neither his nor Claudia's specialty.

"Yeah. She shook her head. "Antimatter in the forties. Huh."

Steve was about to suggest that they go get those steaks and then check in with Artie about flying back tomorrow—since they had the artifact, he doubted that Artie would want them to keep investigating the 'whys' even if they were still short on a few details—when her expression brightened again and she grabbed her computer and flipped it open.

"Antimatter. I bet Joshua could get me some."

It was a little scary that he could actually follow her train of thought, and he shook his head as the diagram he'd expected popped up on the screen. "Claude, Artie will kill you if you power your new manual with antimatter."


	22. Different Partners

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

_This chapter takes place during Don't Hate the Player; recognizable dialogue is not mine._

* * *

><p>"Not it!" The words were out of his mouth before it occurred to Steve that he was way too damn old to be—in all seriousness—calling 'not it,' but considering that Myka had spoken immediately after him and Claudia was scowling, it had actually been the right thing to say under the circumstances.<p>

"Come on, I had to do the coffee run last time," Claudia said. "_Artie_…."

"I'm not getting in the middle of this," Artie said. "But make sure that they use soy whip on mine this time, not that dairy stuff."

"_So_ unfair," Claudia muttered, pushing herself up from her computer and heading for the umbilical, grabbing Pete's arm as he entered from the other direction. "Come on, we have to go to the coffee shop."

"What? Why do I have to go? I just got here."

"Because you have the car keys and I don't have enough hands. Besides, they already called not it."

"But that's cheating. I wasn't even here yet," Pete objected. "And why does Leena get out of doing inventory reports, anyway?"

"Leena has enough to do at the B and B cleaning up that mess you made 'helping' her with dinner," Artie said. "Go with Claudia. Oh, and ask them to add vanilla sprinkles to mine, too."

Pete grumbled something and then turned to follow Claudia back down the umbilical, and Steve pushed himself away from the card catalogue, grabbed the two cards he'd put on top, and took her spot in front of her computer.

"I wouldn't do that," Myka said.

"What?"

"Touch Claudia's computer."

"Why not?" He'd gotten into the habit of using hers when he needed one when they were on a case; not only was it faster than his, they usually did the research stuff—the legal research stuff, anyway—together, and since he didn't need anything else but email, there was no point in wasting space in his carry-on with his machine. Besides, he needed to figure out if those two vases had come into contact in the past because he was damn sure that they'd been next to each other rather than at opposite ends of the shelf two days ago, and the information on the cards was pretty minimal.

Myka shrugged slightly, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'your funeral' and then turned back to her stack of reports, and he shook his head and typed in Claudia's still-ridiculously-long password. He didn't know why she thought Claudia would mind, but he wasn't worried. Artie hadn't had any luck tracking down more information about Urchin, although Leena had taken it and found it a place on one of the Warehouse shelves, but it looked like Claudia was going through checking for any strange incidents at the lab back in the day, just in case. He minimized the window since she would get mad if he messed up something she was working on and then brought up his own search.

Half an hour later and he'd solved the first mystery and was trying to figure out the most concise way to add it to the cards—Claude was right about all of this needing to be computerized—when the door to the umbilical flew open again and Claudia burst in.

"Wha—"

"I have to go," she interrupted before Artie could even finish the word, ignoring Pete as he entered behind her. "Steve, computer."

"What's wrong?" He flipped the lid shut and handed it over. "Go where?"

"California. Somewhere in Palo Alto, I think, Gibson texted me the address. Fargo's caught in some kind of beta test, and apparently it's really bad."

"You aren't going anywhere," Artie said. "Who's Gibson, why did he call you, and what does Bismarck have to do with anything?"

"Well, I don't know exactly who Gibson is, but he had my number and he said that Fargo told him to call me if anything went wrong. Which, he thinks Fargo's dying, so obviously it did." She shoved her laptop into her bag. "And yes, I am going, because Fargo's my friend and he knows me and if he told this Gibson guy to call me, he had a reason. Thank you and goodnight and I will call you when I get there."

"Wait. Stop."

"Artie—"

He held up his hands. "Fine, you're going. But not alone. Myka, Pete, get your things and go with her."

"What?" Steve asked. Not that he knew any more about Fargo than that the guy was Claudia's friend, and not that he was likely to be much help with whatever this beta test was—although neither were Pete or Myka if it was specifically Claudia that Fargo was asking for—but _he_ was Claudia's partner. Not them.

"They've met him too," Artie said, "and with the kind of trouble that I've seen that man get into, and worse, get _us_ into…." He shook his head, letting his sentence trail off. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go."

Claudia had already pulled the door of the umbilical open again, and Pete put the tray of drinks he'd been carrying down on the desk. "You heard him, Mykes. Later Artie, Jinksy. Have fun with those inventory reports."

Steve couldn't help but feel a little put out as they disappeared, Claudia without even a goodbye, and it was almost a relief to stick the two cards he'd been editing back in the appropriate drawers and announce that he was going down into the Warehouse to do inventory. Okay, yeah, maybe he hadn't been around when this Fargo guy had visited the Warehouse before, but that didn't mean he couldn't have gone with her now. He might still be the newest guy, but he'd gotten pretty good at the whole Warehouse agent thing.

His phone rang suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, and he frowned as it displayed a number that he didn't recognize. Probably a wrong number since he rarely got calls from anyone that he didn't know, but he put it to his ear anyway. "Hello?"

There was some static—the reception had been improved in the Warehouse, but it still wasn't great—and then, "Hello, I'm calling for an Agent Jinks, ATF."

There was something vaguely familiar about the accented voice on the other end, but it was nothing that he could immediately place. "Speaking," he said.

"This is Agent Stukowski, FBI. I'm on a case in New York and…." Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Steve wondered if he'd lost the signal, but then she spoke again. "Well, to be honest, I've got something here that I could _really_ use a different perspective on."

Stukowski, Stukowski…right, Sally Stukowski, the lead FBI agent from the folio case in Denver. _Not_ a case he was likely to forget. "Can you elaborate?" he asked.

"I'd rather not, at least not over the phone. And I understand that you're probably very busy, but could you or Agent Lattimer or someone else from your organization be in New York City tomorrow morning? I'm at the Hobbs Gallery; I can text you the address and be here whenever you arrive."

Tomorrow morning sounded like she had something pretty critical, and Steve frowned. "I'll need to speak to my supervisor. Can I call you back at this number in a few minutes?"

"Of course."

The line went dead, and he hurried back to the office. "Artie?"

"Hm?" Artie looked up from a stack of books. "What? You can't have finished Corpus Christi yet."

"No, but do you remember that FBI agent that Pete and I crossed paths with in Denver? Stukowski? I just got a phone call from her."

"You what?"

He shook his head. "Apparently she's got something at a gallery in New York that she thinks we'd be interested in, and she was asking if I could be there tomorrow morning."

"And how does she know what we might be interested in?" Artie asked, his voice low.

"Well, Pete told her that we specialized in weird so I guess she worked from that. Look, she sounded pretty eager to get us there."

Artie pursed his lips.

"There's not exactly a shortage of flights in and out of New York," Steve pointed out. "I can check it out, and if it's nothing I'll be back within a day." And if it was something, he'd collect an artifact on his own, which would make him feel a little better about being left behind as much as he wasn't about to admit that out loud.

Artie was silent for a long moment, and then he dipped his head sharply. "Fine. Call her back, get the address, and let her know we'll be there tomorrow morning. But _don't_ give her any more details about us, understood?"

"Got it," Steve said as Artie turned and headed into his room, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary. "Wait…we?"

* * *

><p>Steve missed Claudia. Not because she was the person he was closest to at the Warehouse—she was, but it wasn't like he hadn't seen her just yesterday—or because at least she didn't growl at him when he said something she didn't like—she didn't, but she did still call him poopypants on occasion which wasn't any better—but because at least the crimes that she committed were mostly limited to the digital world. And, more to the point, she didn't get <em>caught<em>.

Artie, on the other hand…well, Artie was being 'helped' into the squad car next to him, and very soon the nice officer would be taking them down to the station to book them for breaking and entering and attempted robbery. That was one upside to Stukowski having taken off with the painting, he supposed: no one knew that the _Stormy Night_ now in the gallery was a fake. Not that the idea of being charged with anything was a happy thought, but, hey, it meant one less felony count.

"Stukowski played us," Artie muttered as the officer slammed the door shut after him.

Steve shook his head. "Why would she want an artifact?" Not that he had a good explanation for why she'd run out on them, but given that she'd intentionally called them in to deal with the weird, he didn't really see her building an artifact stockpile.

Artie scoffed. "That Van Gogh is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. She probably doesn't care that it's an artifact."

"She's a sworn FBI agent!"

"Hundreds of millions," Artie said, glaring at him.

As much as he didn't like the thought…well, Artie might actually have a point there. Steve stared at the seatback in front of him and tried to collect his thoughts. "Look, why don't we just tell the cops who we are? We're all on the same team."

Artie scoffed. "Oh, yeah, NSA and ATF both burglarizing an art gallery. That won't lead to too many questions."

Okay, yeah, as far as Warehouse secrecy went it hadn't been a great idea, Steve acknowledged, but it wasn't like it wasn't going to come out anyway. Per procedure the officer had searched them for weapons before putting them in the car, confiscating Artie's bag as well as his gun and Tesla, and while he hadn't taken Steve's wallet or badge during the search, it was bound to come out at the station. Hell, as a federal agent his prints were on file too, so even if he didn't pull his badge his identity wasn't going to remain a secret for very long.

And given that the officer _had_ taken Artie's bag…well, Steve didn't know everything that was in there, all he knew about for sure was the device Artie had used to take out the alarms and the laser killer that he'd pulled down off the alarm box right before the police had burst in, but he was sure that there were more artifacts than that, and God knew what the police would make of them. His Tesla they could maybe pass off as some kind of steampunk joke—as long as no one tried to fire it, anyway—since he'd also had a real gun on him, but there were limits to how far that excuse would go with a bag full of gadgets.

"All right, gents, let's all go down to One Police Plaza, shall we?" the officer who'd put them in the car said, opening the door again to speak to them. "The boss wants to meet you."

"Hold it!" a female voice ordered, and Steve glanced at Artie. He recognized that voice.

"Sally Stukowski, FBI," she said, coming up behind the officer and pulling her badge. "These men are working for me on a very important terrorism case."

"Terrorism? In an art gallery?"

He did sarcastic disbelief very well, and Steve didn't blame him, but she didn't even bat an eyebrow. "The black market sale of art has been used to fund numerous radical organizations in the past few years. These men were helping me to identify a potential forgery. We're nearing the end of a ten month operation and I needed confirmation tonight." She met his eyes squarely. "I already have full authority on this crime scene from my field office. Do I need to take it up with your lieutenant?"

The officer paused for a moment and then shook his head. "Take 'em."

"Chop, chop," she said, looking past him into the squad car with a smile.

"Told you," Steve muttered to Artie. Although there was something about that whole conversation that had struck him as…off…somehow. He shook his head as he slid out of the car after Artie, pausing just long enough for the officer to release his handcuffs and return his gun and Tesla. He'd think about it later. When they were far, far away from the possibility of arrest.

Artie snatched his bag out of the front of the squad car, trailing Stukowski over to the far side of the intersection, and Steve followed.

"Sorry I ran off," she said, popping the trunk on a nondescript black car as they approached. "Didn't really have much of a choice." The artifact carry-tube was in the trunk, and she pulled it out and handed it over. "Figured I'd catch up with you once I got the painting back to a safe place." A pause. "I don't really like lying to policemen."

"Well, trust me, you're good at it," Steve said, slinging the strap back over his shoulder. Very good at it, actually, because he suddenly realized that he hadn't sense any lie when she'd been speaking to the officer a few minutes ago. No wonder the conversation had felt off. Although…well, he hadn't had a clear view of her eyes for most of it. And she was an FBI agent, and he had heard something about art theft being used to fund certain terrorist acts, and for all he knew she had been working on some operation here for ten months even if he and Artie had had nothing to do with it. After all, the FBI didn't generally investigate suicides which meant that she must have been at the gallery for some other reason. He probably just hadn't been looking at her at the right moments.

She grinned.

"You have our number, Agent Stukowski." Artie said, offering a hand.

"Right, then," she shook his hand and nodded to Steve. "Guess I'll catch you later."

Artie turned to go, and Steve raised a couple fingers in farewell and then followed. At least for a few paces, until Artie paused. "What is it, Artie?" he asked.

"_Something_."

Less than helpful, but Artie resumed walking a moment later, and Steve shook his head and did the same. There was no point in asking Artie to elaborate when he wasn't in the mood to share, and personally, Steve was more than ready to get back to the Warehouse.

* * *

><p>Steve glared up at the ceiling, invisible above him in the dark, and then pushed himself to his feet. How he'd managed to fall asleep on the flight back—the flight back at five in the afternoon—he had no idea, but it was now two in the morning and he could <em>not<em> get to sleep.

When he left his room and looked down the hall he found the rest of the doors shut, not really a surprise given the hour, and he headed down to the kitchen. Maybe a snack would help.

The light coming from under the kitchen door surprised him, and when he pushed it open he found Claudia standing in front of the stove staring at the tea kettle. "Hey."

She spun with a sharp intake of breath, eyes wide, and he held up his hands. "Easy, it's just me. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. 'm fine."

He crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's so unfair."

Considering the arms she'd wrapped around herself as soon as she'd recognized him and the defensive hunch of her shoulders, he wouldn't have even needed to see her eyes to know that she was lying, but he didn't bother pointing that out. "Couldn't sleep?" he guessed.

She shrugged and then shook her head slightly.

"Me either. You making hot chocolate?" He figured it was that or tea, and Myka and Leena were more the tea people of the group.

"Trying." She gestured at the kettle. "Stupid thing won't boil."

"Watched pots and all that." His words didn't even get a hint of a smile, and he tilted his head. "Mind if I have a cup with you?"

Another shrug.

There was definitely more up with her than just her not being able to sleep, but a harshly-lighted kitchen wasn't exactly the best place to go into it so he leaned against the counter and waited with her in silence until the hot chocolate was made before gesturing towards the other room. "Come on, the sitting room is a lot more comfortable."

She didn't say anything as she trailed him in, taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch from him.

"Nightmare?" he guessed, blowing across the top of his hot chocolate before taking a sip.

She mimicked his actions and then shrugged.

"Because of your case?" Neither Myka nor Pete had gone into much detail, and most of Artie's questions had revolved around how this Fargo person had managed to find the artifact, but he had heard Myka say something about worst fears being manifest. It had been followed up by something about quicksand and lost hair from Pete, but he couldn't come up with anything else that might have Claudia up in the middle of the night.

That finally got a nod, and he considered for a moment and then set his hot chocolate on the end table and offered an arm. He wasn't usually much for hugging and that kind of thing, but he wasn't used to seeing Claudia looking so shook up either.

It was apparently the right thing to do because she scooted up against his side quickly. "That bad, huh?" he asked. She didn't say anything, keeping her eyes on the cup in her hands, and he tightened his arm a little. "Come on, talk to me." Claudia burying herself in work to get away from whatever was bothering her he'd seen before, but this just wasn't right.

"Fargo found Beatrix Potter's tea set."

"Like the Peter Rabbit stories?"

"Right. Except the first stories weren't exactly like the ones we know. When you drink out of the tea set it gets into your subconscious, and between that and the BRAID—this virtual-reality game system that Fargo and Jerry and Gibson put together—it made all the players' worst fears manifest. Fargo and drowning, Jerry and his girlfriend…."

"He was afraid of his girlfriend?" Steve had to ask as she trailed off. "That sounds strikingly unhealthy."

"What? No. He was going to propose, but he was afraid she was going to say no, so then she broke up with him, and there was this whole big thing with an ogre and an axe and a guillotine."

"Guillotine. Right."

One shoulder twitched. "The thing is, once they got far enough into the beta test—Fargo and Jerry, I mean—they couldn't get back out because she stole their controllers. And their heart rates were getting really bad so Pete and I had to go into the game to get them. We didn't know about the fear thing then, Myka figured it out later, but by then she—ogre-Hannah—had our controllers too so there wasn't much we could do but try and finish it."

"And your subconsciousness popped up something pretty nasty?" he guessed. "Or was it Pete's?" He didn't know too much about Pete's past beyond the Warehouse, but way back when Pete had told him about being in the Marines. Steve didn't know where or even exactly when he'd served, but there were a couple options that were pretty frightening.

There was a pause, and then he felt her shake her head. "Pete just thought that it would be scary if we lost communication. Which, we did, but it was more annoying than anything else, and anyway, it got Myka to come in which kind of saved us. But…." Another shake of her head. "It's stupid."

"Can't be that stupid if it's got you this upset."

For a few minutes they sat in silence, and he'd almost given up hope of her answering when swallowed hard, took another sip of her hot chocolate, and started speaking again. "There was this one doctor. At the institution."


	23. Fears

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

_Author's note: After seeing Second Chance—Gah. Gah, gah, GAH. It said very clearly on the info slide for Steve's room when it was being put into the Warehouse that he had _no family_. So (fair warning, spoilers for Second Chance here) where in the _hell_ did his mother come from? Even if they were estranged, he didn't have any trouble admitting that she _existed_, so why wasn't it on his slide? This obviously makes chapters 15-16 of this AU, plus probably some comments in some of the other chapters as well…not that they weren't non-canon already, obviously, but I do put some effort into not _directly_ contradicting the show, and I find random (major) details changing out of the blue exceedingly annoying. For now I'll keep cranking away, but I've already started trying to come up with some revisions that incorporate the new knowledge without changing most of what I have…currently I'm on an invented aunt in North Carolina, but we'll see how that goes. Again, gah. As much as I love Steve-Claudia friendship scenes, I'm a little annoyed right now._

* * *

><p>Steve wasn't sure what he'd expected, but that wasn't it, and he felt himself tense. "Did he hurt you?" He wasn't sure what he'd do if the answer was 'yes,' but he had to ask.<p>

"No." She shook her head quickly, and he couldn't see her eyes, but he didn't think that she was lying. "No, he just scared me. A lot."

"Why?" Claudia was a smart girl; if she'd been afraid, it was for a reason.

"I don't…it's hard to explain. He was good at his job." She took another sip of hot chocolate. "Plus, even if he didn't hurt me, he was still _creepy_."

Steve felt his lips twitch at her blunt assessment, although the situation wasn't exactly amusing. "What do you mean, he was good at his job?" he asked after a minute.

"Just that. It's…like I said, this is kind of hard to explain."

"Time I've got."

For a moment he wasn't sure if she was going to respond, but then she shifted against his side and started talking. "When my first try at getting Joshua out failed, it felt like the end of everything. I spent so much time on it, and I thought I'd done everything right, but…." She trailed off with a slight shake of her head. "Lights, camera, _nothing._ What it really did is establish the energy linkage, or it strengthened it enough to do some good, anyway, but I didn't realize that at the time. All I had were these dreams of Joshua and this light that bounced around where it shouldn't be—that no one but me ever saw, unless you want to count a few drunken frat guys who'd stumbled into the old lab building over the years—and even I knew how crazy it sounded. And I thought they could make it better."

She went silent again for a moment, taking another sip of her hot chocolate, and he squeezed her shoulder and waited for her to collect her thoughts.

"They diagnosed me with a couple different things before they got to schizophrenic, but a lot of their treatments were the same no matter what the diagnosis was. Drug therapy, group therapy, talk therapy...oh, and visiting animal therapy so I got to play with the puppies, which was fun. And then one or two doctors who insisted that if I read the Bible and prayed enough all my problems would all magically go away. Or at least they called themselves doctors, I've never been real sure about that."

"You're joking."

"You would think. I mean, Joshua's kind of vaguely Catholic, and I guess my parents must have been too although I can't really remember, but I'm definitely not." She shrugged. "But from what I saw, the institution was taking money from anywhere and everywhere to stay open; it had research affiliations, religious affiliations, all of that, so I guess it's not a surprise that there were people around with that attitude." Another shrug. "Anyway, Dr. Michener ran one of the talk therapy groups, which is how I actually met him, but his main interest was in alternative therapies. For people that drugs don't work for. And the drugs to treat schizophrenia and the various other mental disorders they ticked their way through before they got a schizophrenia didn't do a damn thing for me."

"Well, you aren't schizophrenic or anything else so I wouldn't think they would."

"Yeah. Anyway, he was really good at making himself sound reasonable. Dr. Michener, I mean. Even when I was creeped out, he made it all make sense…different brain chemistries had different responses, for some people one thing worked better than another, that sort of thing. So when he suggested the first of the alternative therapies that he'd been getting results with, I said okay. And TMS—transcranial magnetic stimulation—wasn't all that bad. It sort of made things feel…dull…for a little bit afterwards, but…." She trailed off for a moment and then shook her head. "It's hard to explain how it felt, but it never lasted more than twenty or thirty minutes, and he had all of these explanations and datapoints and whatever about how much I was improving and how the treatment was really helping me, and I just sort of went with it. I mean, thinking back now, I don't think it really did any good. Of course I was gaining weight; I was eating three real meals a day instead of grabbing a granola bar and a can of coke when I happened to remember. And they forced me to sleep on a regular schedule too, which didn't hurt. But at the time…like I said, he was really good at making things seem reasonable."

"So what changed?" he asked when she stopped talking and turned her attention to the drink in her hands.

"It's not so much what changed, but what didn't change," she said, lowering the mug again. "Even when he was doing treatments every two or three days, I was still seeing things. Having flashbacks. So he decided that I needed something stronger. And the way he talked about it and how reasonable he made it sound…I ended up agreeing."

She shivered against him, and Steve felt himself tensing again. "What did he do?"

"ECS. Electroconvulsive therapy. Twenty-first century name for electroshock therapy."

' That's real?' warred with 'They can do that?' warred with a general 'What the _hell_?' in Steve's mind, and he tightened his arm again.

"It's not really like they show it in the movies," she continued. "I mean, they do have to strap you down since the whole point is to induce a seizure, but you're under anesthesia the whole time they're actually shocking you. A couple of the other patients talked about 'the back room' and probes and stuff, but scaring other patients was practically a hobby for some of them so you kind of have to take that with a grain of salt.

"So what about it is giving you nightmares then?"

"Well, even if I knew that Kevin and whatever-his-name-was were being jerks, they still kind of got to me a little," she admitted after a minute. "But what happened afterwards was way worse. It's…you know what I said about TMS making things feel a little dull? It was like that times a million."

"I don't understand."

"There was this clock in my room that was broken. I'd knocked it off the shelf a couple days before and had never gotten around to repairing it, but it was just a simple digital thing. I should have been able to fix it with one hand tied behind my back while blindfolded and arguing superstring theory. And I couldn't."

"Argue superstring theory?"

"Fix it. Or argue superstring theory, probably, although I didn't try. They took me back to my room after the treatment, and I saw it sitting there and decided I should fix it since I had a minute, and I couldn't even…it took me five minutes to figure out just how to open the back panel. And when I looked inside, it didn't make sense." Her fingers tightened around her mug as she raised it to her mouth and took a quick gulp. "I can't really explain how my brain works. I can just look at things and figure out how they work and figure out other ways to make them work or make them work better or whatever. It's been that way as long as I can remember. I mean, sometimes I have to do some drawing or some calculating or some playing around to get things exactly right, but understanding the basics has never been an issue. The human stuff, the social skills stuff, forget it, but mechanics and circuits and electronics…it just fits. And then all of a sudden it didn't. I stared into that thing for _hours_ and it just looked like chaos, and then one of the orderlies came to get me for dinner and asked me what I was trying to do, and I couldn't tell her. At which point I totally freaked out. They ended up sedating me, and when I woke up the next morning my head was online again—and it took me all of two seconds to reconnect the damn power wire—but after that…." She shook her head. "I think I'd started believing that I wasn't crazy about the time that they actually got to the schizophrenia diagnosis, but that was the last straw. I'd rather have lived with being crazy than let them shut down my brain again like that. He tried to stop me when I went to check myself out—"

"Dr. Michener?"

"Yeah. But he couldn't claim that I was a danger to myself or others, just that it was against his medical advice, so they couldn't stop me. When I saw him in that game…." She shivered. "First of all he was just as creepy as ever, and then those stupid probes showed up, and then I was strapped down and he was going to make my brain stop working again."

"Hey. None of us would ever let that happen."

"But I was by myself again, too," she said quietly. "He said that none of you were real and I was still at the institution. And I was by myself for a long time…you guys being real still surprises me out here sometimes."

"Myka shot him, right?" Steve asked after a moment of thought.

"Yeah. With an arrow."

"Okay, the arrow is weird, but she shot him because we are real and we aren't going to let anyone mess with you—or any of us—like that." He squeezed her shoulder. "Come on, as smart as you are, do you really think your brain could have invented hallucinogenic artifact-neutralizing purple goo or a tooth from Jaws that chomps on people's arms or a Tesla grenade?" He snorted. "Or Houdini's wallet that won't even stay _bungeed_ in place?"

"My brain did invent the Tesla grenade."

"Okay, right, bad example," he acknowledged, "but it's not like it came out of the blue. Tesla invented the first Teslas, right? Anyway, that doesn't explain the rest of it." He paused. "And what about Artie? Do you really think you could have invented a guy like _him_?" That got what might have been the start of a giggle out of her, and he surprised himself by pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Growing up, Olivia had always been the tough one…having a not-officially-but-close-enough-as-far-as-he-was-concerned little sister was new for him. The action seemed to relax her a little, though, so apparently it had been the right thing to do. "You're not by yourself, and you're not going to be," he said. "Hey, if nothing else, I don't plan on leaving."

"Swear?" She looked up quickly and then away. "People say that sometimes, but they're usually lying."

He snorted. "That's my line, remember. Come on, Claude, where else would I go? I'm Warehouse, now."

She seemed to consider that for a moment and then nodded slightly, and after a minute he tugged her cup of hot chocolate, now empty of all but the residue at the bottom, out of her hands and replaced it with his mostly-untouched one. He didn't really need it, and she was pretty open to chocolate in any form, even if it was more lukewarm than hot at this point.

"Thanks," she murmured quietly, closing her fingers around it.

"So what was the rest of this video game like?" he prompted, trying to get her mind off creepy doctors. And his own mind off the desire to do something unpleasant to a particular creepy doctor. First of all, he was an ATF agent and doing that sort of thing was definitely inappropriate, and second of all, Pete and Myka and possibly Artie might have some ideas that wouldn't get them all locked up.

"Well, he made me an elf, to start with," she said after a minute.

"What?"

"Gibson. When we were going into the game we had to pick characters, and I said I wanted to be myself, but he went and turned me into an elf. It was still better than Pete's character, though…he said he was a gladiator, but he totally looked like a stripper. And Fargo was a wizard, and Myka was a Ranger. Oh, and Leena had wings. That was neat."

"Leena was there? When did that happen?" He'd never seen her go out on a case before.

"Well, it wasn't really her. See, the game was called Fortress Thirteen, and it was a total ripoff of the Warehouse. Major copyright issues, even the Dark Vault was included. Although we don't have a dragon, and dragons are cool, so now I kind of want one."

"Oh, I'm sure Artie would love that."

"Trust me, I think that would be the least of Artie's worries. He was a character in the game too, except he was General Arthur and he kept rhyming everything, and Fargo is totally _dead_ if Artie ever finds that out. Although he made me the princess, and _I_ might make him dead if I think too much about that."

"The princess?"

"You know, the one you're supposed to rescue?" She tilted her head to look up at him. "Do you _know_ what female video game characters always end up looking like?"

"I am so very, very not going there. Drink your hot chocolate."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Both transcranial magnetic stimulationTMS and electroconvulsive therapy/ECT are real treatments, although used more for depression than schizophrenia according to the gods of Wikipedia. As best as I can understand it (which I admit isn't very well), they don't actually shut down any part of anyone's brain, but I needed something that would scare Claudia pretty severely in a short amount of time without being totally unethical (i.e. electrocuting someone while they're fully conscious), and since different people do respond in different ways, that seemed like a good way to go._


	24. Slow Days

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

_I got a comment in the last chapter that the show never said that Steve had no family. It actually did, in Stand. When Artie is closing up Steve's room in the Warehouse they do a close-up of the artifact screen (probably because the QR code is actually valid and pops up his status if you run it through a scanner...which I did try since I couldn't come up with any other reason they'd zoom in like they did). From the screen:_

Mr. Jinks, Steven

W-13 Agent

…removing some numbers ….

Status: Deceased

Living Family: None

_(Yeah, still a little annoyed, although I'm getting over it.) I probably am going to just call this AU as a couple people have suggested… the alternate versions of the earlier chapters that I've come up with just don't work as well as the ones posted._

* * *

><p>Something flashed in front of his eyes, startling Steve out of sleep, and he grimaced and tried to sit up only to realize that he was already sitting up and there was an unexpected weight on his arm. And a crick in his neck. Right. Claudia. Nightmare. She'd fallen asleep while he was talking about his case with Artie, and while he hadn't doubted that he could lift her, he had doubted that he could lift her without waking her up. Apparently he'd fallen asleep while debating whether or not he should try it.<p>

"Aw, aren't the kiddies cute," Pete said with a grin.

"Funny." Steve rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight."

"Where is everyone?"

"Leena's making breakfast, and Mykes is in the shower. And I haven't seen Artie this morning yet. What are you two doing down here?"

"Both woke up in the middle of the night, ended up swapping stories about our cases," he said with a shrug of the shoulder that Claude wasn't sleeping on. "Guess we fell asleep." He nudged her arm lightly. "Hey. Claudia."

"Mm?"

Another nudge. "Come on, it's time to get up."

She wrinkled her nose, and then one hand came up to rub her eyes and she sat up, taking her weight off him. "Jinksy?"

"Come on, you could have let me take another picture or two," Pete complained.

"What?"

Pete held up his phone and grinned.

Steve groaned as he realized that it must have been the flash from the camera that had woken him up. "Seriously?" Pete was a good guy, he really was, but Steve didn't even want to _think_ about what inappropriate situation he'd find to bring up said 'cute' picture in.

"No joke, I mean, what kind of person creeps around taking pictures of other people while they're asleep?" Claudia asked, looking more alert. "_Ew_."

"I—"

Claudia made a face and pushed herself off the couch, heading up the stairs before Pete could protest further, and Steve tried and failed to hide his grin. Best defense being a good offense and all of that, although he had to remember to ask her to get that picture off Pete's phone.

A yawn escaped, and Steve decided that a quick shower and switching to day clothes before breakfast was a good idea. Especially since it would get him out of Pete's range before Pete decided to ask why they'd decided to sleep on the couch. He didn't mind mentioning the nap on the flight back that had had him awake until all hours of the night, but he doubted that Claude wanted her nightmares advertised, even to one of the others.

By the time Steve made it back downstairs Artie had arrived for breakfast as well, bearing several manila folders, but Steve's hopes of a new case—with the right partner this time—were dashed when he opened the one Artie handed him and found nothing inside but a stack of papers with artifact listings on them. "What's this?"

"Inventory. Claudia, this one is for you." He shoved another stack at her as she came up behind Steve.

"Jeez, how many trees did you kill? Is this why South Dakota is miles upon miles of sand?"

Artie scowled at her. "Since our last inventory night was interrupted, I decided to get ahead of things a little so you can all get started right after breakfast. You have your assignments."

"You know, maybe instead I could—" Pete began.

"No."

"But don't we need someone to—"

"_No,_" Artie repeated. "With all the time we've had to spend on Warehouse 2 inventory, we're ridiculously far behind on Warehouse 13 inventory—and yes, Claudia, I know you and Steve have been trying to take up the slack, but we're still falling behind—and I want to get as much done as we can before anything else critical comes along. So, breakfast and then Warehouse. Yes? Good."

"Let me see what you've got," Myka said, pulling Pete's folder from his hands. "Hey, that's not fair." She frowned at Artie. "Why does he have the works of Chaucer on his first page while I got stuck with…possessed maces of the Crusades?"

"Ooh, I'll trade you."

"No, you won't!" Artie declared. "I've worked these lists out very carefully."

"To give me maces?"

"Yes, because if I gave you books, you would get distracted reading something, and I'd be lucky to get half a page of inventory out of you before the day was over. And if I sent _him_ to check the weaponry aisles…." Artie waved a hand at Pete but didn't elaborate. Then again, he didn't really have to.

"Great, that means I've probably got stone slabs or something on my list," Claudia muttered.

"Eat now, and I'll swap you once we get to the Warehouse if you want," Steve murmured back. Not that he'd looked very closely at his list, but if Artie had set things up to keep them away from whatever might distract them, he was a lot more likely to have electronic-type artifacts than she was.

Artie shot them a suspicious look, but before he could say anything Leena arrived with breakfast, and complaints about their assignments were put on hold for the time being.

* * *

><p>Houdini's wallet. Steve blinked, but it was still there. The thing apparently liked him or something; this was the second time since they'd started the mass inventory sweep that it had turned up while he was supposed to be working on something else. And that wasn't counting all the times it had happened on inventory days before this. He shook his head and dug a static bag out of his pocket, checking his gloves quickly before plucking it off the shelf and dropping it in.<p>

He did one more set of shelves before deciding that it had to be almost time for lunch, and since he was more than ready for a break, he decided to drop Houdini's wallet back off in its spot and then try to find Claudia or one of the others and convince them to get out of here for a while. Nothing against Leena's sandwiches, but after three and a half days of inventory, he could use a long lunch and some Thai.

He put Houdini's wallet back on its shelf, made a mental note to buy another bungee cord or three, and was trying to remember what he'd seen on Claudia's list when she appeared at the far end of the aisle, her nose buried in the object in her hands. "Claude! Hold up!" he called.

"Hm? Oh, Steve, good, now I don't have to hunt you down."

"Hunt me down for what?" He headed towards her, frowning when he realized that the object in her hands wasn't the stack of papers that he'd assumed it was.

"I've got a present for you. Well, actually I've got a prototype, and you have to give it back, but…." She shrugged and handed him the object.

"What is it?" It looked like a tablet, but there were no identifying marks anywhere.

"The manual. Or my version, anyway." Another shrug. "I got a little bored with inventory."

"You built this this morning?"

"Well, I got a little bored a couple times yesterday and the day before that and the day before that too. Anyway, I dragged the scanner to my room the night before last, and mutilated a manual—don't tell Artie, I'll figure out a way to rebind it somehow—and my program to generate cross-references finished this morning. It's still rough, but I need somebody who's not me to take a look at it for usability."

"And that's me?"

"Well, I'm not telling Artie about it yet, and Myka and Leena have already read the manual, and Pete's never _going_ to read the manual—plus he'd probably try and put games on it or something—so..."

"I see your point." And he had meant to keep working through his copy, it was just that other things always seemed to interfere.

"I put in some of the case files, too," Claudia said. "If you turn it on, you'll see the menu for the manual itself and then cases sorted by date. The cross-reference program ran on them too, but I'm not sure how well it worked. There's only about three years so far because the cases before that—pretty much from right before Pete and Myka got here—are all archived, and I keep forgetting to figure out exactly where archived files are saved." She made a face. "I really hope they _are_ saved somewhere electronic and that Artie didn't just type them up on his trusty typewriter, but who knows."

Steve nodded and then thumbed what had to be the power button, and shook his head at the muted banner behind the menu. "'Don't Panic'? Really?"

She shrugged. "I'm a geek, it was practically a requirement. Anyway, browse around, read through, let me know if anything is broken or hard to use or needs to be added or whatever. All right?"

"Sounds good. But after lunch? I was thinking Thai."

"Ooh, Thai sounds good. Come on, we can leave that in my spot until we get back."

It wasn't until he put it down on one of her worktables that he remembered what else she'd been talking about the last time she'd mentioned her manual-tablet, and he couldn't help a little bit of alarm as he glanced back at it. "Hey, Claude, you didn't get around to making it antimatter powered, did you?"

"What?" She made a face. "Oh. No. At least not yet, it turns out that Joshua can't really send me any from the lab without getting into trouble. And I couldn't make it nuclear either because good shielding is almost as hard to scale down as a Tesla power source. I'll have to remember to get you the charging pad when we get back."

"Sounds good." Better than good, actually, because being a guinea pig for a new type of electronic book was one thing, being a guinea pig for a nuclear-and-or-antimatter book was another.

* * *

><p>The manual needed a 'History' button. It had a 'Back' button that Steve had yet to be able to overflow, but when he started bouncing around references, it took forever to get back to where he'd originally been. Of course, if he'd remember to bookmark things it wouldn't be such an issue, but—<p>

"Jinksy, come check this out!"

"Pete, the door was shut," he objected. Even Claudia knocked when the door was shut. Occasionally she was bouncing foot to foot waiting for him to answer if she was particularly excited about whatever she was looking for him for, but at least she waited for his okay.

"It was cracked," Pete said dismissively. "What's that?"

"Just doing some reading." He was pretty sure that Claude hadn't told anyone else about what she was working on, and it wasn't really his secret to spill.

"Oh." Pete made a face. "Well, come on."

Steve put the manual on his desk and followed Pete into the hall. "What are we going to look at?"

"Claudia—well, it might have been Artie's first, I don't know—has a program that goes through and makes sure that we didn't leave behind too much identifying stuff after a case. You know, pictures on the web of a truck that might have kind of ended up standing on its nose in Lake Michigan, or a security tape of someone assaulting museum guards, or—"

"When did you assault museum guards?" Steve interrupted.

"Actually Myka usually does that."

The fact that he used the word 'usually' disturbed Steve a little, although technically speaking they had assaulted him the first time they'd met him—or at least Artie had Tesla'd him, which was close enough—so maybe he shouldn't be surprised. "She found something good?" he asked.

They turned into Claudia's room before he could answer, and both she and Myka looked up at him and grinned.

"What?" Whenever people looked at him like that he got the sudden urge to check for a 'kick me' sign, and that was despite the fact that he knew perfectly well that none of them would do anything like that to him. "Come on, what is it?" he prompted when they didn't answer immediately.

"Check it out." Claudia turned her computer so he could see it, and he felt himself flush as he caught sight of the image.

"He took a picture?!" It was recognizable enough, by the Confederate uniforms if nothing else, but when he and Claudia had started mugging for the camera when a reenactment photographer had interrupted their Laverne-and-Shirley debate with a lecture about showing appropriate gravitas for the situation, he'd never thought the guy would take an actual _photo_ of them.

"Yep," Claudia said with a grin.

"Just my luck." Steve shook his head. "All right, come on, show me the rest. There has to be one with you front and center." She was in the picture with him too, just behind his shoulder and grinning ear-to-ear as well, but he'd been the one caught head-on.

"Nope, the rest are all regular reenactment pictures."

He shook his head again. "Delete it, please." Not that it was really a bad picture, he'd certainly had worse taken in his lifetime, but it wasn't exactly one that he wanted floating around, either.

"All right, all right. Spoilsport."

"Pete said that you had a program that searched for this kind of thing?" he asked, dropping down on the side opposite Myka. "What else did it find?"

"Well, it's more like my artifact crawler than anything else. It looks for traces of us on the web so I can decide whether to delete them or not. Like we probably shouldn't have images floating around the net of Pete making out with thin air or Myka beating the crap out of half the museum security guards in the Louvre—"

"It wasn't half of the guards," Myka objected.

"Wait, you robbed the _Louvre_?" Steve demanded at the same time.

"It wasn't a robbery, it was creative snagging," Pete defended.

"Yeah, that sounds even less convincing than when Artie said it." And that was saying something.

"Besides, it was just a little crinkly wall painting. We had a hard time keeping it from crumbling in its purple wrap on the flight back."

"It was a fresco," Myka murmured.

Steve shook his head. He officially did not want to know.

"Anyway, it's mostly that sort of thing that I delete," Claudia continued. "Twenty or thirty years ago it might have been harder, but now that almost everything is connected even security video is accessible. And delete-able." She tilted her head. "Although I guess twenty or thirty years ago it was a lot harder for different places to compare notes too so it probably wasn't quite as important to delete things then either."

"You wrote this program?"

"Actually Artie did, or…." She trailed off with a frown. "You know, now that I think about it, Hugo might have done the very first version of it way back when. Some of the framework is a lot more his style than Artie's, although Artie's code is definitely in here." A quick shrug. "Anyway, I've just been improving it. A lot."

"And they aren't behind, I don't know, firewalls or something? The security videos?"

"Well, if you want to get technical about it, that's where a lot of my improvements have been. What? I told you I hacked the Warehouse from Switzerland once."

He shook his head. "For the record, that's probably not the best thing to say in your defense at trial." A pause. "I already know I'm going to regret this, but what were you saying about Pete making out with thin air?"

"Hey, I have great technique."


	25. Class: A New Case

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. Slightly shorter chapter here than usual, but real life has been evil and I haven't had time to get much writing done._

* * *

><p>"Hey, Jinksy!"<p>

Steve told his heart firmly to get back in his chest as Claudia flung herself down on the couch beside him. "Hey, Claude. I didn't hear you come in. What's up?"

"I'm bored."

"And I'm suddenly afraid for my life."

She grinned. "What are you doing? I mean, aside from avoiding Artie and day billion-and-two of inventory?"

"Reading." He held up the tablet manual. "Promise me something?"

"Probably, but what?"

"That we will never, ever switch bodies." He should probably be reading the old cases from Myka and Pete—and Claudia and Artie—in order, but he'd gotten pulled into this one from a link in the the chapter on statue-type artifacts, and…well, nothing against Claudia, but he just did not want to go there.

She shook her head. "Hate to break it to you Jinksy, but if I promise it's going to be the first thing that happens on our next case. You know, the other kind of jinx?" She shrugged. "Although, for what it's worth, switching bodies is pretty high on my list of things to avoid too. Especially the exploding part that follows."

"Exploding part?" He frowned down at the manual. "I haven't gotten to that yet."

"It's pretty gross."

"It sounds like it."

There was silence for a minute, and then. "Jinksy, I'm _bored_."

He obviously wasn't going to get any more reading done today, and he sighed and thumbed the manual off. "You've got something planned?"

She brightened. "I finally started on some updates to the Gooery yesterday, but I kind of need some help moving the new components into place."

"What's the Gooery?"

"A much better name for the Neutralizer Processing Center." She made a face. "I could do it myself if Artie hadn't gotten mad and taken away the parts I was using to build an anti-gravity generator. I mean, it wasn't like I put a big ding in Muck's EMF coil."

"Sure, but after lunch?" he asked after a moment, deciding not to comment on the anti-gravity thing. Officially lunch was what he was doing now—or at least that was the excuse he'd used to escape the Warehouse half an hour ago—but since Leena had been drafted to help with inventory there hadn't been anything ready-made and he'd never quite gotten around to making himself a sandwich. He was really getting spoiled by the whole B&B thing.

"Okay, after lunch," she agreed quickly. "Tacos?"

"Sure."

She spent most of the ride to the restaurant explaining what she was doing, or at least what she was planning to do, to the Neutralizer Processing Center, the majority of which went right over Steve's head, but when they finally arrived the décor was enough to silence them both. And then Steve pulled out his phone. "Wow. We're halfway through October already. When did that happen?"

"I'm not sure. It was just summer like two minutes ago." She pointed at the item beside the cash register. "That's creepy, though. I mean, unusually creepy."

"Yeah, a dancing bat with three eyes is a little out there." He shook his head. "So what are the Halloween traditions around here?"

Claudia shrugged. "Not much. I mean, last year Pete tried to rearrange one of the Warehouse aisles to make our own little haunted house thing, but Artie found out before he got anything except the coffin moved, and…." She trailed off with another shrug.

"Right." Steve wasn't even going to ask what a coffin was doing in the Warehouse.

"Anyway, we'll probably do movie night or something like that, but it's not like Univille is party central. Heck, I don't even think there were any trick-or-treaters that came by Leena's last year. Which, now that I think about it, was probably a good thing because she bought Reeses and Twizzlers and between Pete and Myka they were gone in like two minutes."

"And, of course, you didn't help."

"Of course not."

"Lie."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, _duh_."

He shook his head and stepped up to the counter to order. He'd probably deserved that.

* * *

><p>"High school? Are you nuts? I didn't even go to high school the first time around," Claudia declared.<p>

"Lie," Steve murmured. Granted that he knew she hadn't _finished_, but she had gone.

"Fine, Mr. Semantics—and by the way, that gets old—I went for about two minutes, decided that it wasn't for me, and after I left I hacked myself a diploma and didn't look back. I'm pretty sure I told you that already."

"Well, you're going to have to try," Artie said. "Because the local police have already been leaning on the kids because of their drug theory, and so far that's only made them close ranks further."'

"Well, if it's an artifact not a drug, they've got nothing to say," Steve said. "It's not closing ranks, it's telling the truth. It's not their fault if it's not a truth the police want to hear."

"The _point_," Artie said with a glare in his direction, "is that I don't think sending in federal agents is going to help in this situation. We know that the affected teenagers all attended the same high school so that's a reasonable place to start, and since we have a conveniently almost-teenage agent…." He waved a hand vaguely.

"Well, I don't think it's convenient," she muttered, and then brightened abruptly. "In fact, it's so inconvenient that I couldn't possibly go right now. I have to finish work in the Gooery."

"I thought you said you only had the new monitoring system left to calibrate," Steve said, and then winced at the glare she gave him as she opened her mouth to replay.

"_If_ you followed the plans I approved," Artie interrupted before she could say anything, "I'm sure that I will have no trouble finishing the calibrations myself. I did run this place for years before you showed up, after all. Now, officially you and your brother just moved to the area, and you'll be starting school on Monday. Steve, that leaves you free to visit the police station as an agent, just in case they do get something."

Steve nodded. "Sounds good."

"Yeah, 'cause you're not the one stuck going to high school."

"Hey, I went all four years the first time around. Consider it payback."

"I'm so getting you a plane ticket for a middle seat between two screaming babies."

She didn't, but Steve suspected that it had more to do with the fact that the plane sat two to a side and there was a decided lack of small children anywhere onboard than a lack of desire on her part. At least if the glares she kept shooting at him were any indication. "Come on, Claude," he said finally. "It's not like it's the end of the world. Besides, I thought you'd be jumping at the chance for an undercover gig." Not that it was what he'd call deep cover, but still.

"Not at a high school."

"You'll be fine." He nudged her arm lightly. "Hey, at least you'll get a chance to be around people closer to your own age for a little while. A little younger, maybe, but a year or two isn't so much."

She gave him an annoyed look. "When, exactly, did you get the impression that I want to be around people my own age? Like I told Artie when he started muttering about colleges way back when: _I'm_ not my own age. And do you know the kind of mess he's going to make of my work in the Gooery?"

"I promise that I will help you fix it again when we get back," he said after a minute. "Besides, what about your ex-boyfriend? He had to be close to your age, right?" At least Steve hoped so because as much as it was none of his business—Claudia would be the first to tell him so if he was ever stupid enough to comment on it out loud—he couldn't say that he'd be happy if a guy his age started nosing around her, never mind anybody any older.

"You mean the guy in witness protection from the mob because of his hacking skills? Not to state the obvious, but he's not what you'd call a normal representation of my age bracket either. And anyway, he's twenty-three. Twenty-four, now, I guess."

"All right, fine, maybe not the best example," Steve acknowledged. "But I think Artie's right. I'll go and talk to the police and see what they've got, but it's the kids we need information from, and they're more likely to talk to someone their age than yet another authority figure."

She sighed. "Yeah, I know. I just…I'm not always so good with people."

He nudged her arm again. "You'll be fine. Just relax. Be yourself."

"Be myself?" She gave him a mildly horrified look. "Is there some sort of Fountain of Crappy Advice in the Warehouse that I haven't found yet that tells people to say things like that? I mean, seriously."

"What?"

"Myself is the _last_ thing I should be, I proved that before."

He wasn't sure what 'before' she was talking about, but before he could push she sighed and shook her head and pulled out her headphones, turning to stare out the window. Great. What a good way to start the case.


	26. Class: Backgrounds

_Thanks to everyone who read and parkitcharlie, esinger, rockyshadow, islanzadi heap, CyanB, Mitsuki Shigamatsu, golden elandor, and de Dutchess for reviewing._

* * *

><p>"I hate you."<p>

"Good afternoon to you, too," Steve called back, looking up from the files the police had given him as the front door slammed. Artie had put enough into their cover to get them a short-term apartment rather than their usual hotel room, and while Steve appreciated having more room, the layout wasn't the best. "How was your first day?"

There was another bang that he strongly suspected was her backpack hitting the floor, and then she stomped into the kitchen to join him. "'Be myself' is even crappier advice than I thought, it's totally unfair that you get to do Warehouse stuff while I have to deal with high school, and you put too much jelly on your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."

As much as he knew that he shouldn't, he couldn't help grinning at that last. "Come on, it can't have been that bad. You were only there for like eight hours."

Her scowl grew. "Two of my teachers complained about my hair and I had to eat lunch by myself. And did you see the classes Artie put me in? Trigonometry? I could do trigonometry in my sleep when I was like ten!"

She probably could, and Steve shook his head. "Well, you know he was trying to put you in as many of the classes the artifacted kids were taking as he could. Besides, even if they put you in triple-AP Calculus or whatever their highest math class is, would it be any different?"

"No," she admitted, dropping down at the table. "But it's still annoying. And I thought I was done eating by myself when I came to the Warehouse."

"It's a small town," Steve said with a shake of his head. "They're…insular. Trust me, I know, I grew up in one, remember?"

"Yeah, and I remember what else you said about it too. I have red hair."

He smiled. "Give them a day or two to get used to you, all right?" If nothing else, this place wasn't quite as small as the town he'd grown up in, and she was a cute kid. Not that he was about to say _that_ out loud given the mood she was in, but he suspected that at least a few people would start to reach out to her soon. He pushed the pack of cookies he'd been snacking on towards her. "Have an Oreo."

"Yeah, great, that'll make it all better." Still, she took a couple, and although her glare didn't entirely fade she seemed to relax a little as she munched on them. "I'm guessing by that stack of papers that you didn't manage to solve the case on your visit to the police station?"

"Sorry, not so much. They were actually pretty helpful, or at least they've given me access to everything that they've got, but they've got no leads whatsoever." He gestured towards the stack. "I just got started flipping through this mess; you're more than welcome to join me."

"Well, it beats science homework." She made a face. "'Classify where on the spectrum each of these sounds fall.' Like I didn't build a laser to transmit sounds through a mirror two years ago."

"Right."

"What? You don't believe me?" She looked vaguely insulted. "It was the whole Alice-Myka body swap thing."

"Oh, no, I believe you." He frowned. "Wait, more body swapping? Is there an aisle for that or something?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so."

He shook his head and pushed a stack of folders over. "Come on, help me get through a little more reading and then we can go get dinner. I'll even eat with you."

"You're not funny."

"I think I'm funny."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the first folder on the 'personal information' stack. "Okay, I've got Tammy Ridgeway, age seventeen, coma patient number five." She held up copy of a drivers' license showing a young blonde and then stuck it back into its paperclip. "Born here, raised here, two younger sisters. And other than that…." She flipped the page aside. "I've got nothing except a couple report cards."

"Yeah, well, like I said, not a lot of information."

"Hm. Well, they aren't good grades, but they aren't bad either."

Steve took the second folder on the stack and opened it, pulling out the photograph to show her. "Robert Corner, age eighteen, coma victim number four. Also born and raised here, but no siblings. Pretty average grades as well."

"Eric Scott, age eighteen, born and raised blah-blah-blah, youngest of four," she said, moving on to the third folder. "His report card says he got suspended last year for fighting, if that means anything."

"Probably not." Steve flipped open the fourth folder. "Eric Robins, age seventeen, also born and raised here. One older brother and one younger sister. Good at math, not so much at English."

"Brandon Martin, age seventeen…huh. _Not_ from here. Nothing on his parents, but he's been fostering with the Arthur family for about a year now. They've got another kid staying there too, a fifteen year old boy."

"That's a little suspicious," Steve said.

She gave him a strange look. "The fifteen year old?"

"What? No, the part about Brandon being fostered instead of living with his family."

"What do you mean? Maybe he doesn't have a family. And the other boy might be more recent, I can't tell from this, but a year means that he was here way before anything started."

"Yeah, but…." He shook his head. He'd done some undercover work for the ATF—quite a bit, really, when you added it all up—and especially in gang work you ran into a lot of kids who'd grown up in the system. Some of whom had been pretty scary people. No point in bringing that up, though; Claude was right, Brandon had only slipped into a coma a week and a half ago. "He was the first one affected," he said instead.

* * *

><p>Steve pretended to listen attentively to the doctor, but since the man was just listing the most recent string of tests that had come back negative, most of his attention was on the girl in the bed. Tammy Ridgeway, whose mother had just slipped out to get a cup of coffee so the doctor could speak to Steve. Steve had talked to Mrs. Ridgeway on the phone yesterday for a little while—he'd talked to almost all of the victim's families at this point—but from the look in her eyes as she'd walked out, he didn't even think she'd realized who he was.<p>

Personally he would have preferred to start with Brandon, their patient zero or whatever the Warehouse term was, but at the moment he was kind of at the mercy of the doctor, and in the interest of getting as much information as possible he was trying not to rock the boat. Even if the man did seem to love to hear himself speak.

He thought things were getting better at the school for Claudia, or at least she wasn't trying to dent the floor with her backpack every time she got back to their apartment anymore, but so far she hadn't come up with any more information than he had. She'd figured out that all of the affected teenagers knew each other, but…well, small town. It would have been more of a surprise if they hadn't. She'd gone through their class schedules too, just in case the information that Artie had gotten was wrong, but that hadn't turned up anything either. All of the affected teenagers were taking senior English, but so was every other senior in the school. Three of the five had been taking trig, but the other two had been in calculus. Four were taking European history, the fifth wasn't taking any history at all. Two were in chemistry, one was in physics, and two weren't taking science. And their electives weren't any more helpful: art class, computer class, creative writing, band, study hall, gym…there weren't a _lot_ of electives, at least not compared to something like a city high school, but there were enough that not all of the artifacted students had overlapping schedules.

At first, when they'd realized that all of the students had the same English teacher—because there was only one senior English teacher in the school, although that information wasn't in the computer—Claudia had thought that there might be something there. Some antique book in the classroom, maybe, that they'd all touched. But she'd been in that room every day for a week and hadn't seen anything that looked promising, and from the description she'd given him, any old books were more likely to be the 'the district doesn't have enough money for new supplies' type rather than the antique type. Not that they were ruling that _out_, and Artie was checking the teacher's background for any collecting-type habits or orders that he might have placed recently, but thus far nothing had turned up.

The doctor gave him a questioning look and he nodded and pretended that he'd been paying attention all along. He should probably feel guilty about ignoring the man, but since he'd be getting copies of the test results anyway, despite fully expecting them to be as useless as the rest of the paperwork they had…well, he just couldn't muster that much enthusiasm for brainwaves.

Claudia was sprawled out on the couch when he arrived home, and she lifted her head with a groan as he shut the door and joined her in the living area. "Please tell me that you've solved the case and we can go home."

"Another rough day?"

"Not really, but I'm supposed to write a paper on the Civil War for next week, and I don't think I can get away with writing about Grant's flask. Plus like a billion trig problems."

"I thought you can do those in your sleep?"

"I can, but I still have to _do_ them."

"Well, at least you've got until Monday. Any luck?"

"Not really. I started pushing a little harder—asked a couple girls at lunch if they knew what the details were about those kids who'd gotten sick—but they just shrugged and said that they'd heard about it in the hall but they didn't know anything about what was going on. They wouldn't even give me any rumors."

"They're probably pretty on edge about the police," he said after a minute. "Think you can convince them to meet you somewhere outside of school? That might help." He paused. "It might tell you where at least one of the local hangouts is, too."

"Yeah, maybe, but odds are it'll just be another place that everybody goes and there's nothing special about those five. Have you talked to Artie today?"

He shrugged. "Just for a minute before I left for the hospital. Apparently Myka and Pete are on their way to Maine for a new case, and he was in a hurry to get everything together."

"Hm." She made a face.

"I need to stop by and meet with the Arthurs sometime tomorrow," Steve said after a minute. "I've talked to at least one member of all of the rest of the victims' families, confirming none of them have gone on vacation or gotten packages or anything like that recently, but they've never been home and haven't returned my calls."

"That's Brandon's foster family, right?" Claudia said. "Mind if I come along?"

"Fine by me, but we can't tell them you're an agent."

"Well, duh." She shrugged. "If they ask, we can tell them we have to pick up some stuff for the apartment after you finish your interview so I had to come with you. And maybe I'll get a chance to talk to his foster brother. He might know something the adults don't."

"Just be careful."


	27. Class: Disagreements

_Thanks to everyone who read and to parkitcharlie, Makokam, izlandi heap, rockyshadow, and CyanB for reviewing. And for whoever said they wanted Steve and Joshua to meet, it's actually here (although not in person)…Steve doesn't know as much about Claudia's past as he thinks, and Joshua is one of the clues._

* * *

><p>"I'm apologize that no one's called you back, but I just got back from my mother's last night," Mrs. Arthur said. "And my husband is awful about checking the machine. We're both issued cell phones for work, and we use them so much these days that I'm not even sure why we keep a landline."<p>

"I'm sorry, you said you've been visiting your mother?" Steve had to ask, even as he nodded in response to her explanation. She was telling the truth, but that seemed like a strange thing for someone to do when a child in her care was in the hospital.

"I know, the timing is awful, what with Jesse having to put in such long hours at work to get this project finished and Brandon…." She trailed off, flushing. "But she just started on her third round of chemo, and after her last experience they insisted that someone be with her for her first few days. And there just wasn't anyone else."

"I understand," Steve said. "But I actually had a few questions about before Brandon slipped into the coma, if you don't mind?"

"He didn't do drugs, if that's what you're thinking," she said. "The police already asked about that." Her lips pursed for a moment. "Several times."

"I know. I'm actually wondering if there was something that he might have come into contact with accidentally. Maybe an allergy he hadn't known that he had?"

"That's somehow affecting the other children too?"

"At this point we have to look at all possibilities, even the unlikely ones." He tilted his head. "Had you taken any trips out of town right before it happened? Or even done anything unusual in town?"

"No."

"You're sure? Not even a trip into the city?"

She shook her head.

"What about packages? Maybe he got something from a relative? Or someone sent something to you or your husband?"

"Oh, no, no one ever sends us packages. And as for Brandon, his mother disappeared shortly after he was born and his father was never in the picture. His only other family was his grandmother, and he lived with her until she died and then went in the system."

"How old was he then?"

"Seven, I believe."

"And how long has he been with you?"

"A year?" She nodded. "About that."

"And the other boy you're fostering, Danny, has he been with you as long? Could someone have sent him something?"

"He got here the month after Brandon. And no, he hasn't gotten anything in the mail recently. He does have a sister, but she's quite a bit younger, and mostly they talk on the phone. They haven't even had a sibling visit in over a month." She turned, glancing back over her shoulder. "Do you want to speak to him?"

"I don't think that's necessary right now. Honestly, I appreciate him keeping my sister entertained."

She looked back at him, her expression curious. "You said you were running errands after this? It's not just the two of you, is it?"

"Yes, it's…our parent's passed so Claudia and I are on our own."

She smiled sympathetically. "That must be hard for you."

"We do all right. Do you mind if I ask how long you've been taking in foster children?"

"Almost a dozen years now."

"So you've had some experience. How is Brandon compared to other children you've fostered? Have you had any problems with him or anything like that? I know you said drugs weren't an issue, but has he ever run away? Or maybe brought home something that wasn't his?"

"No, nothing like that. Of course, he's not the most trusting either, especially when it comes to talking about his day and that sort of thing, but then, when a child has been bounced around for ten years, you learn to expect that."

Steve nodded and then nodded again as Claudia stuck her head around the corner. "Well, I think that's all the questions I have for now. Thank you for your time." He pushed himself to his feet and drew out his card. "If you think of anything else, please give me a call."

"Of course." She turned towards the other room. "Danny, Mr. Jinks and his sister need to be going!"

Claudia and Danny joined them at her call, and Claudia said something to Danny and then joined Steve as Mrs. Arthur showed them to the door. Steve stayed quiet until they were back in the car, and then, "Nothing new on my end. What about you?"

"Not much. No packages—no one to get packages from—no trips anywhere, nothing like that. Danny plays it pretty close to the chest, like most foster kids, though."

Steve was tempted to ask when she'd become an expert on foster kids, but they had more important things to do than tease right now.

"However, apparently while Brandon is pretty easygoing day to day, he likes to play tough for the kids at school," she added. "Of course, not really _at_ school because hanging out with foster kids doesn't always do good things for a person's reputation, but…." She shrugged. "Danny did eventually admit that there were a couple kids named Eric that Brandon hung out with sometimes."

"And we have two Erics on the comatose list," Steve said. "I don't suppose he knew where they went when they hung out?"

"Not so much. And the only other name he gave me was Jenny Robinson. Apparently they went to some kind of football dance or something a few weeks ago."

"Homecoming, probably," Steve said. "You never had one of those?"

"No."

"Well, if she's not comatose—or not comatose yet—we should talk to her."

"I'll see if I can find a picture of her. Maybe she's in one of my classes."

* * *

><p>"Remind me why I'm doing your trig homework again?" Steve asked.<p>

"Because I'm correlating financial data and matrixing it with typical habits."

She was staring at her computer rather than at him when she said it, and he tapped his pencil against the book. "You're making that up, aren't you?"

She looked up at him and grinned. "Maybe."

"Come on, Claude, I _can't_ do this in my sleep." He could barely do the math at all. Sure, he'd passed trig and even calc once upon a time, but that had been a long time ago, and his memory on calculating sins and cosins and whatever else was more than a little fuzzy. He'd be better off doing the Civil War paper, but apparently she'd knocked that out last night.

"It's not that hard," she said with a frown.

"No, I'm sure it's not, but it's been ten years since I've done this. You know, since _I_ was in school."

She rolled her eyes but snagged the book and pencil from him and slid her computer in his direction. "Here, you see if you can find anything in common in the families' activities."

"What—is this their credit card records? All of them?" Steve shook his head. Judging by the number of screens she had open, she probably really was matrixing something, but the casual way she—and Artie, for that matter—invaded normal citizens' privacy still disturbed him a little. "_Claude_…."

"Hey, I'll try and talk to Jenny tomorrow, but until then, unless you've got something better, we might as well see if they've got anything in common. Maybe there was a street fair or a visiting carnival or something like that."

"That everyone forgot to tell us about?

"Have you got a better idea?"

Steve shrugged. "I thought about it a little more last night, but the more I go over it, the more I think Brandon is the key. I mean, his foster mom didn't mention any trouble, but she was stretched pretty thin by the look of things—which I guess I can understand with her mother being sick and all—and if his foster father works long days like she said, it's not like anyone was really paying attention. Maybe he picked up a few things that weren't his to show off for the guys at school."

She scowled. "Just because he's in foster care doesn't mean he's a thief."

"No, but it doesn't mean he's not, either. That or something worse." Steve shook his head. "Look, I'm not trying to scare you but I've had some experience dealing with kids like him from a couple undercover cases I was on. There's a chance that he's a lot more dangerous than they realize."

"You're not the only one who's met foster kids," she said, her scowl deepening. "And not having parents doesn't make them bad. You met Danny, and he's perfectly nice."

"Claude, I'm not talking about someone you had a twenty minute conversation with. Or even someone you happen to know from school." He was letting his experiences color his perception, and he knew it, but with Brandon being patient zero, his friends being affected, and the fact that an artifact had to be involved somehow…. Well, he just didn't like it.

"And _I'm_ not talking about someone you happen to meet trying to buy guns or drugs or whatever you were trying to do," she shot back. "Obviously _that's_ a bad situation, but you can't just say that about everybody." She glared and then pushed herself to her feet. "I'm going to go make lunch."

Steve rubbed his forehead as she stomped out of the room. He probably should have figured out another way to say that; Claudia might claim she wasn't a people person, but that didn't stop her from assuming the best of people. But there was the possibility that this case was more than they'd realized, and he wanted to make sure she knew that. Okay, yeah, maybe Brandon wasn't particularly dangerous himself given that he was in a coma, but who knew where he'd gotten the artifact from? Or…well, Danny was from the same apparently-mostly-unsupervised household, and twenty minutes wasn't enough to know that he was all that he seemed, either.

* * *

><p>Claudia was still giving him the silent treatment the next morning when she left for school, and for lack of anything better to do he borrowed her computer and called up her last search—credit card records and all—and started going back through him. He still didn't think there was anything there to find, but it couldn't hurt.<p>

He was about to give it up as a bad job and start calling families again, a follow-up, just in case someone had thought of anything plus a chance to ask a few discrete questions about Brandon when Claudia wasn't around to get upset about it, when the screen, or at least the image on the screen, twisted. A moment later it resolved into the image of a man Steve had never seen in an office that was completely unfamiliar.

The man stared at him for a fraction of a second, obviously as surprised as he was, and then his expression shifted into a fierce glare. "Who are you and why are you touching my sister's computer?"

"I…."

"Well?"

"Wait, you'd be Joshua, right?" Steve asked as his brain caught up with his surprise. It had been a while since he'd seen a picture of Claudia's brother, but the two of them had similar features, and he wasn't sure who else it could be. Especially since he'd managed to take over _Claudia's_ computer.

"Yeah," Joshua said, still glaring, "but you still haven't answered _my_ question."

"Uh, Steve Jinks. Agent Steve Jinks." He fumbled for his badge, figuring that it couldn't hurt, and brought it into the view of the webcam. "I'm Claudia's partner."

"And you're on Claudia's computer because?"

"It's faster than mine." Also his didn't have the case data, but there was no point in going into that.

Fortunately the portion of the explanation that he'd given seemed to pacify Joshua somewhat, and he glanced past Steve. "Is Leena redecorating?"

"No, this isn't the B and B. I…sorry, you're probably looking for Claudia, aren't you?" Obviously, who else would he be looking for? "She's at school right now."

"School? Since when?"

"We needed someone who could pass as a high schooler for what we're working on right now, and…." Steve trailed off with a shrug. "She should be back in a couple hours if you want me to tell her that you called."

"Yeah, thanks. And tell her to call me back, too. The last stage of this experiment has to run all night, and as long as I'm checking it every hour on the hour I might as well take the chance to talk to her."

"Will do," Steve assured him.

Joshua nodded, and the screen twisted again and then the screens of credit card records returned. Steve frowned. That had been Joshua, and he'd been telling the truth about working on an experiment and wanting to talk to Claude and everything, but something about the conversation suddenly seemed off somehow.


	28. Class: New Information

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>A scowl was still firmly fixed on Claudia's face when she returned home from school, and Steve bit back a sigh. She'd made it pretty clear why she was irritated with him, but he had no idea what was making her take the whole thing so personally. It wasn't like he'd said anything about her, or even teenagers—or barely-more-than-teenagers—in general, just what he'd observed in his career. Which, whether she liked it or not, was longer and considerably more varied than hers. She did brighten when he mentioned her brother, though, making a beeline for her computer, and rather than listen in he headed into the kitchen to see what they had for dinner. Leftovers, mostly, and they were running short even on those…a few slices of pizza, half a sub, and some of the teriyaki that Claude hadn't finished last night. They didn't even have any milk left.<p>

He shut the fridge and headed into the living room where Claudia was sitting with her computer balanced on her knees. "Hey, Claude, I'm going to make a run to the store and then pick up some dinner. Is there anything in particular you want?"

"Hm? Oh," she glanced back at him, apparently forgetting to be irritated for a moment. "I think we need milk, I used up the last on my cereal this morning, but whatever's fine for dinner."

He nodded, and the sense of something off returned as he saw her and her brother's faces side by side. He still couldn't place _what_ was off about the picture, though, so with a nod of acknowledgement he turned for the door.

The store was crowded, not really a surprise given that people were getting off work about now, and he grabbed a gallon of milk and some sandwich supplies and then joined when looked like the shortest line. Which, of course, turned out to be moving the slowest. No point in switching lines now that he was in one, though, and he shook his head and spent his time doing some people-watching. It was a small town, that was pretty obvious…people all knew each other, knew the cashiers, all of that. He'd gotten out of the habit of expecting that when he'd been in the city, and while the same thing was probably true in Univille, Leena was the one who always made the grocery runs.

He'd only moved up two places in line when he realized that the cashier was familiar to him too, although he couldn't immediately place her. She wasn't anyone's parent, obviously, so not someone he'd talked to directly, and he was trying to decide which of the victims' sibling she had to be when he realized that she was the girl Claudia had planned to speak to today. Her hair was much shorter than it had been in the picture Claudia had found, but she'd definitely been Brandon's date for the dance a few weeks back. Jenny something. Jenny Robinson.

He glanced behind him, but the line had only lengthened, and as much as he wanted a chance to speak to her, this obviously wasn't the place. And he had no idea whether Claudia had already spoken to her at school today. Damn.

On the off chance he would see something, he watched her behavior with the remaining customers ahead of him, but nothing stood out about her. Nothing to indicate that she might have been affected by an artifact, nothing to indicate that she'd seen anyone else be affected….

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, and he shook his head quickly as he realized that the line had finally moved while he'd been staring.

"Ah, no, I just needed…." He gestured at the items on the belt. "Sorry, you just look familiar. Maybe you go to school with my sister?" It wasn't precisely a _good_ excuse for staring, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice.

She seemed to accept that, though, since she nodded and started to ring him up. "Probably. Only the one high school so we pretty much all go to school together."

"She's a redhead, about so tall," he said, measuring it out in the air. Given that it was a small town, nobody would think anything about him taking a few minutes to chat with the cashier. After all, everybody else in line had been doing the same thing. And it wasn't like she wasn't ringing up his order while they talked. "We just moved here."

"Oh, yeah, Claudia." She gave him a cautious look. "She's in one of my classes. She said her brother was an ATF agent."

"I am," he agreed with a nod.

"I…."

He tilted his head as she trailed off, but before she could say anything else—or not say anything else, as she seemed to be reconsidering whatever she'd planned to say—the register beeped.

She shook herself and glanced back down at it. "That'll be fifteen ninety."

All professional, now, and he glanced at the line behind him again and then swiped his card quickly. Asking her to take a break now would be just a little obvious, but given the look that had crossed her face, if Claudia hadn't talked to her, he was definitely going to find some time. .

Claudia's computer was sitting by itself on the coffee table when he returned, and he turned towards the bedrooms. "Claude, I've got chicken!"

"Coming!"

"Hey, did you talk to Jenny today?" he asked as she joined him, before she could remember that she was angry with him.

"At lunch, yeah. Turns out we have trig together, but we don't sit anywhere near each other."

"Did you find anything out?"

"That Brandon's a nice guy," she said, a scowl returning to her face.

"Anything else? It turns out that she works at the grocery store—she was my cashier when I bought the milk and stuff—and when I told her I was your brother it seemed like she wanted to say something. Even though she knew I was with the ATF." Or maybe especially because she knew.

"Maybe," she said after a minute, grabbing a drumstick as her scowl faded into a look of concentration. "It's…when we were talking, I asked if she had a boyfriend, and she said sort of, but since she has to work most days after school and he spent a lot of time on their project, they didn't get to hang out as much as she'd have liked. And then he got sick."

"Who's 'they' and what project were they off working on?" Steve asked as he dished himself out some macaroni salad.

"Don't know about the project; I tried asking but she just said that it was some crazy idea they had. But she did say that they were all sick now, so I'm kind of figuring it's the other kids in comas." She dropped down at the table to eat.

That sounded pretty promising, and he took a seat as well and then glanced over at her. "Do you think you can get more out of her tomorrow or is that when she stopped talking?"

"That's when the bell rang to go to our next class. And if I can come up with a way to ask, maybe, but asking about a boyfriend as part of a casual conversation over lunch is one thing. Asking about a boyfriend's mysterious illness and then randomly about his hobbies is another. Especially since I'm supposed to be just a normal high school student." She shrugged. "I'll try even if I can't come up with a good lead in, but I'm afraid I'll just creep her out."

She had a point there, and he hated to see her do something that might mess up her cover at the high school if this Jenny _didn't_ know something. "At least see if you can find out when she isn't working, and I can drop by then in official capacity and just claim I'm following up with known acquaintances " he suggested. "Like I said, I think she might have had something she wants to say to me anyway."

* * *

><p>"Got something!" Claudia yelled as the front door banged open.<p>

"Clearly not a good citizenship award," Steve shot back.

"What?"

"I'm way too damn young to be getting called into parent-teacher conferences. What did you say to him?"

"Well, if someone's going to be _that_ much of an idiot, I can't help but call him on it," Claudia said, joining him in the kitchen.

Steve debated pointing out that this was one of her teachers that she was talking about, but since it was her physics teacher and she probably _could_ solve rings around him there didn't seem to be much point. "I put him off until next week so please tell me you've solved the case and we'll be gone by then," he suggested. Because most of the parent-teacher conferences he'd been involved with had been one of his parents, usually his mother, coming in to talk to his teachers about him getting the crap beat out of him. Again. And considering that 'Why don't you tell him not to be gay anymore?' had come up as a solution more than once…well, the whole concept just wasn't something that brought back fond memories.

"I don't know about that exactly, but I kind of know what their project was. The kids who got sick, I mean. She wouldn't say at lunch, but she wanted to talk to me privately after school, and..."

"Spill," he said.

"You were right, she did have something to say to you—or something she wants me to pass on to you, anyway—but first, she wants you to know that she's not a snitch. And that Brandon is a good guy, that's why she didn't say anything when the police were asking all their questions. Apparently _some_ people think the fact that he's in foster care automatically makes him suspicious."

"Claudia." She glared, and he sighed. "Would you just tell me what she said?"

"I guess some guy from town was on one of those auction-type reality shows last year and got quite a bit of money for it. You know, like he found something in his attic that his great grandpa bought back from so-and-so back in the day and now it's worth like a million dollars?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, I guess there are a lot of old barns and that kind of thing around here, and Brandon and the others were thinking maybe they could do the same thing, so they've been all over town—and outside of town—digging around a bunch of abandoned properties. They invited Jenny to go with them, but like I said, she has to work a lot and usually can't go. And so far she didn't think they've found anything good anyway."

"But it wouldn't necessarily have to be valuable, or at least anything they recognize as valuable, to artifact them," Steve finished. "That's what she thinks happened?"

"Well, she doesn't know anything about artifacts, obviously, but she is afraid that they might have gotten sick from something they found or touched or whatever. And like I said, she was afraid the police would blame Brandon if she said anything about what they were doing when everyone started getting sick." She paused. "That, and I think she figured that the doctors would figure out what was making them sick and fix it and it wouldn't matter anyway. Since that hasn't happened, though…."

"Right. And I guess since I'm an ATF agent and not from around here, that makes me safer to tell."

"Especially since she didn't have to tell you directly," Claudia said. "But here's the bad part: I asked, but she doesn't know exactly where they were searching last. Just that it was some abandoned property outside of town. Off to the west, she thinks, but she's not a hundred percent sure."

"Damn." That did make things a hell of a lot harder. "Well, if you can get me a list of abandoned properties in the area, I guess I can start searching. Or maybe back and talk to Brandon's foster brother and see if he can narrow the list down some." He paused. "And make sure that there wasn't anywhere they were searching that _wasn't_ really abandoned." Having a place to start would help at least a little, since things never seemed to come with signs that said 'artifact' on them.

"I think I'd better be the one to talk to Danny if you're going to say things like that."

Steve almost groaned as he realized that her scowl had surfaced again. "Claude, why are you taking this so personally? Whether you like it or not, I've had some experience dealing with kids who grew up in the system, and they aren't always squeaky clean."

"And like I said, so have I. And not everyone's a thief, either."

"Like what kind of experience?" he challenged.

"Like being one of them."


	29. Class: Digging Around

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"What?" It wasn't exactly creative, but Steve was having some serious trouble processing her words.<p>

"What do you think happened to me when Joshua disappeared?" Claudia snapped.

"But you were in high school when that happened. Weren't you?" That was what he'd always assumed given a few of the comments she'd made, anyway, and not that high school wasn't still too young for her to be on her own, but Claudia always seemed too young for the things she did. And he couldn't imagine her letting some stranger from child services order her around when she barely even let _Artie_ order her around. He frowned as the lingering sense of wrongness he'd felt when he'd seen her brother's image on the screen returned and he was finally able to place it. "Except _he's_ too young, isn't he?" he asked before she could answer his first question. He hadn't really thought about it before when he'd seen pictures of Joshua, but the guy still had to be a couple years away from thirty.

It was her turn to look confused. "What are you talking about? He's too young for what?"

"You told me once that you went to live with your brother after your parents died, but he's not that much older than you are." If they'd both ended up in foster care, that would explain a lot.

"No, he was eighteen when I was born," she said. "And I did go to live with him after the accident."

There was no lie in her eyes, but it still didn't make sense. "Come on, Claude, I've seen him. He's at least a few years younger than I am. Well, either that or he has a hell of a plastic surgeon."

"Uh, no, not that I know of. But he did spend twelve years trapped in an interdimensional space where he didn't age."

"Twelve _years_?"

"Yeah. I was seven when it happened and nineteen when I got him back."

"Oh." Again, not particularly creative, but he couldn't reconcile her words with what he'd thought her past had been. He'd have sworn that her brother been trapped a lot less time than that. But now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure where he'd gotten that impression from. She might have implied things, or at least he'd inferred things, but he couldn't remember any actual numbers ever being mentioned.

"So like I said, I grew up in the foster care system," she said after a few moments of silence. "It's a hell of a lot of 'experience.'"

He winced as she marked out quotes in the air and then shook his head. "I'm not…I never meant you." Which probably didn't make one damn bit of difference to her given the things that he'd said—and never mind that he genuinely had been speaking from his own experience—but he couldn't not say it.

"Whatever. It'd just be better if I was the one who talked to Danny."

"Claude…."

"It's not a big deal."

"Lie." Although not as much of one as he'd have expected.

"Seriously, Steve. I spent most of those twelve years, or at least the eight years I was actually in the system, bouncing. It's nothing I haven't heard before." She shook her head and then reached up to grip her backpack strap. "I've got homework."

That she wasn't harassing or even asking him to help with. Yeah, not a sign of anything wrong there. "Not from a friend," he said before she could disappear. At least he hoped not.

"Didn't really have friends. 'scuse me."

* * *

><p>Steve glanced up at the clock again and then at the door. He'd promised this morning to let her be the one to talk to Danny after school, but he'd be glad when she was home. Even if she was right and he was being a jerk—and realistically he probably was, especially since he wasn't undercover on some ATF operation at the moment—he'd still rather be talking to Danny with her.<p>

He finally heard the door open, and he twisted towards it. "Claude? Anything?"

"Maybe." There were two thumps in quick succession, presumably the door closing and her backpack hitting the floor, and then she joined him in the living room, flopping down on the couch beside him. "He didn't know exactly where they'd been searching, but he did know that the last couple days when Brandon came home it looked like he'd been wading or something. I checked, and there hasn't been any rain for like a month, but there is a river off to the west that's running high this year. Something about runoff."

"So maybe he was searching a flooded barn or basement," Steve said.

"That's what I'm thinking. I pulled a bunch of abandoned property records last night just so we'd have them. It should be easy enough to make a list of the ones closest to the river."

"Well, let's get going, then. You get the list; I'll get the goo."

She joined him at the car only a few minutes later, but she was frowning down at her phone, and he tilted his head. "What?"

"I've got _thirteen_ structures here. Five houses, six barns, and two garages. It's like half of the abandoned buildings within the town limits are all in the same area."

"And they're all flooded?"

"Close enough to the river that they should be, at least according to the satellite maps." She shook her head. "Who builds like that? I mean, has the river never run high before?"

"Unless that wasn't where the river was when they were built," Steve said after a minute. "How old are they? The houses, I mean."

"I didn't look. What do you mean that wasn't where the river was? Since when do rivers pack up and move?"

He shrugged. "This is farming country. It's possible that they redirected it or built dams or whatever at some point after the houses were built. You know, for irrigation or whatever. They did something similar to the river near where I grew up…it was before I was born, but every time we drove past one of the holding ponds my dad would talk about how they'd ruined the best set of deer blinds in the county when they, and I quote, 'put that damn dam in.'"

"I guess that would explain why they're all abandoned," Claudia said after a minute. "It means that the search is going to take forever, though. I mean, thirteen buildings, and all of them probably old…."

"Yeah, and you just know it—whatever 'it' is, and assuming 'it' is even our artifact—is going to be in the last place we look."

"Well, yeah. I mean, why would we keep looking after were find it?" She shook her head. "I've never understood that saying."

Steve grinned and mimicked the headshake as he turned the car on. "Fair enough. I'd suggest we grab something to eat first, but I think we're going to need all the daylight we can get."

"We can always go after. And I've got a headlamp and a flashlight in my bag."

Three hours later, and Steve was glad of the flashlight but very much wishing that they'd stopped to get dinner after all because no one was going to let them into a restaurant after this. And Artie was going to need a doctor when he saw the cleaning bill the rental car company was going to send them. "Have you got anything?" he called over to the other bobbing blob of light that marked Claudia's position.

"Aside from a pair of absolutely ruined boots, no," she called back. "I guess we should have brought waders."

The first house they'd searched would have been better classified as a shack, and the river had been and gone so while the floor had been starting to rot through, it had been mostly dry. On this property, however…well, the first two buildings they'd searched, the barn and garage, had been more muddy than really flooded. Which meant that he and Claudia had had the joy of digging twisted lumps of metal and bits of leather out of the mud in order to check them for artifact-ness—slipping at least a couple times each while doing so—with no success. And then they'd come to this house which was most definitely not a shack.

Like with the first house and the two outbuildings everything that looked even vaguely valuable had already been removed, but there had still been bits of this and that scattered around. Most of it old and therefore something that needed to be checked. And then Claudia had found the entrance to the root cellar and Steve had found himself wishing for mud.

The water only came about halfway up to his knees, although that was more than high enough to have gotten his feet soaked, but it had obviously been higher in the past, and between that and time what Steve thought had once been old crates or barrels had been reduced to so many piles of rotting wood. That he and Claudia got to sift through. So far he hadn't found much…some half-disintegrated burlap bags that had probably held some kind of food way back in the distant past, and an old bicycle wheel. And from the lack of anything but complaints from Claudia, he didn't think she'd been having any more luck.

"All right, I'm done with my half," she said after a moment. "Absolutely nothing even remotely artifact-like. Are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah. And I don't know about you, but I'm ready to head back tonight. We can start fresh again tomorrow afternoon."

"Agreed." A pause. "I call the shower first."

* * *

><p>The first thing that Steve smelled when he stepped out of the bathroom was pizza, and he only took a few seconds to toss his wet things into his room before hurrying towards the kitchen. Claudia might be skinny, but when she got hungry, she could eat.<p>

She'd left him more than half, though, and he grabbed a few slices and a can of coke and headed into the living room to join her. "What's on?"

"Not much. Want to do some of my trig homework?"

"Not really, no." He tilted his head. "You mind if I ask you a little more about what we were talking about yesterday."

"I'd rather do the trig homework."

"I won't ask if you don't want me to," he said after a minute. "I just…it doesn't make sense."

"Parents dead, brother missing, age seven. What's there to make sense of? I mean, I'm good, but even I'm not that good." A pause. "Not _quite_ that good."

"I meant what you said about bouncing around. I mean, you're a genius. Like, literally. Shouldn't they have been fighting over you?"

She snorted. "Shows what you know."

"Gee, thanks."

She shook her head. "Foster parents like normal. You know, girls who play with Barbies and worry about clothes and get a solid B-plus to A-minus average so they can say 'good job' without worrying that she's building a killer robot in their basement. I'm not normal, and I'm not good at pretending that I am so mostly I got weird looks, cleared throats, and a lot of 'she just doesn't quite _fit_ here.' And that was assuming my social worker could get anyone to take me at all; the older a kid gets the harder it is and by the time I took myself out of the system I think I was spending more time in group homes than actual foster homes."

"They can't all have been like that." At least he really, really hoped not, although that would kind of explain a few things too.

"No, there were a couple good homes, but…." Another shake. "They just didn't work out. People always go away."

He'd heard that before, but she'd never been willing to elaborate and he doubted that had changed. "How old were you?" he asked instead.

"Seven. Did you hit your head one of those times you slipped?"

"No, I meant when you got out of the system."

"Oh. It was my fifteenth birthday. I hacked their computers, convinced them that I was turning eighteen, and away I went."

"Of course you did."

She shrugged. "I was getting sick of it. And by then I could take care of myself."

"And the friend thing?"

"You might have noticed that I don't really play well with others. It's not a new thing."

"We get along just fine," he pointed out.

"That's different. That's Warehouse."

"Hey. You're my friend. That's always." He grinned. "But I still don't want to switch bodies with you."

"Do you want to search for artifacts in the mud while I'm at school tomorrow?"

* * *

><p>"'Do you want to search for artifacts in the mud while I'm at school tomorrow?'" Steve mimicked. "No!" If he remembered her schedule right, Claudia was in trig class right about now, but he'd rather be there than the chest-deep-in-mud situation that he was currently in. Well, technically the mud was only about hip deep, but the muddy water was up to his chest because this guy had stayed in his home longer than most and had gotten the bright idea to turn half of his garage into a covered boat ramp. Except Steve hadn't realized that until he'd started sliding down the ramp, and he now had his back against the wall at the bottom. It was better than being in the river itself—and he was really hoping he wasn't going to trip some sort of automatic door-opening whatever—but every time he tried taking a step up the ramp he just slid right back down. His current plan involved sliding himself over to one of the side walls and hauling himself up that way, but given how deep he was, it was slow going.<p>

He hitched the tub of goo a little higher onto his shoulder and then began to make his way along the wall. Slide. Squish. Slide. Squish. Mud in places he didn't even want to think about. Slide. Squish. Slide. Squish.

He finally reached the wall, at which point he found a flaw in his plan. Escaping this mess involved dragging himself along a half-rotted wood wall that was not only lacking handholds, the few handholds it did have involved splinters. Still, there wasn't a lot else he could do about it unless he wanted to wait for Claudia and a rope—probably not a great idea since he was supposed to be picking the one her up at school in a couple hours—and the wide window sills should give him some purchase if he could just reach them, so….

Dragging himself up the ramp was harder than it sounded, and his gloves were ripped to shreds by the time the surface under his boots was flat again, but he eventually did make it. "Okay, I'm officially declaring that _no one_ found an artifact down in that sludge," he muttered to himself as he stripped off the remains of the gloves and then carefully pulled out the visible splinters, wincing as he did so. That meant that there was only the loft to search, though, and then he could move on to the house. Which, since it was built on higher ground than the barn-slash-boat-ramp, might have slightly less mud.

He sighed as he leaned against the wall and let himself breathe for a few minutes, considering the ladder leading up into the loft. Wooden, probably as rotted as the walls, and missing a few rungs to boot. Yeah. He felt really good about that. Well, at worst he'd just come crashing back down into the mud, and he really couldn't get any muddier at this point. The rental car company was probably going to just make them _keep_ the car.

The ladder creaked alarmingly as Steve climbed, and twice he was pretty sure he felt it pulling slightly away from the wall—and there were definitely a few splinters still in his hands that he'd need to deal with later—but he was finally able to reach the opening leading into the attic. Which was dry, at least, although probably not very stable since there were several spots where sunlight was shining in through holes in the roof, and hitched up the goo again and then pulled of the flashlight on his belt and flipped it on. He didn't realize until he grabbed it that it had been soaked in his little boat ramp adventure, but miracle of miracles it still worked, although it was Claudia's and for all he knew she'd designed it to work underwater, and took a look around. Pretty deserted except for some wood scattered around, and he headed for the nearest pile and started to dig through it. Maybe it used to be part of a crate or something.

These weren't boards, though, he noticed as he lifted a few of them away, they were more like rods, and he frowned as he twisted two pieces that had obviously once been part of the same piece but were now only connected by a scrap of cloth. There were actually a lot of bits of cloth attached to the wood pieces when he looked.

Steve set down the two he was holding and pushed himself back, using the flashlight to survey the whole collection again. He wasn't in the same league as a couple of his teammates when it came to puzzles, but he wasn't an idiot either, and he would bet his paycheck that there used to be a much larger piece of canvas involved, and it used to connect _all_ of the pieces of wood. Maybe it was from the top of a tent or an awning or something? He tilted his head. In some ways it looked like the wood pieces had been set out deliberately, like someone else had been trying to put a puzzle together, but whatever the wood and canvas had once been, it had obviously been in here a long time.

The obvious occurred to him a second later, and he closed his eyes for a second. "Oh, no." He should have put a new pair of purple gloves on as soon as he took the ruined ones off, but he hadn't even thought about it. And then he'd gone and grabbed something that had been up here for _a long time_ in his bare hands. Granted that he didn't feel any different, but they already knew that this artifact didn't take immediate effect, and this looked really suspicious. "Claude's going to kill me." And if she didn't, Artie probably would.

He dug a spare set of gloves out of his jacket pocket and pulled them on quickly before slinging the tub of goo off his shoulder, fumbling a bit when the slick mud made it difficult to open. "Don't spark. Please, don't spark." Of course, even if it was the artifact, it might not spark unless he gooed everything, but….

He grabbed the pieces of wood and canvas he'd picked up originally, crossed his fingers, and dropped them in. And then jerked an arm up to shield his eyes from the shower of purple sparks that followed. "_Shit_."

He pulled out his phone, but unlike the flashlight it had been done in by the dunking, and he cursed quietly. Claude had the Farnsworth in her bag, and while he had been texting her the address every time he moved between properties, she wouldn't get out of school for a couple hours. And, again, he had the car. He could go pick her up now, make up an emergency to get her out of class—say a mudslide had taken out their apartment—but the idea that he could pass out while driving down the road…. No. The artifact might not take immediate effect, but he didn't know what the exact time frame was, and he couldn't risk it.

He stared down into the now-quiet tub of goo and then carefully removed the canvas and wood, trying to scrape off the extra goo on the sides before setting it carefully aside. If he was careful, he might have enough to goo all the pieces. Hopefully that would be enough to neutralize the artifact so the fact that he'd touched it wouldn't matter.


	30. Class: Solved

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed._

* * *

><p>"Steve! <em>Steve!<em>"

Whoever was calling his name was being really insistent about it. And he really wished that they would shut up. His head hurt.

"Steve, wake _up_!"

Talons dug into his shoulder, shaking him, and Steve groaned and opened his eyes. Or tried, anyway. His eyelids felt really heavy for some reason.

"Steve?" Another shake. "Come on, you've got to wake _up_."

The voice sounded more than a little desperate, and he forced his eyes the rest of the way open. "Wh—? Claude? Man, my head is killing me." He pushed himself into a sitting position, closing his eyes tightly against the stars that flashed in front of him for a few moments and then opening them again. "What happened?"

She scooted close enough to hug him quickly. "You got artifacted. Bad. I don't know exactly _how_, I'm kind of hoping you can fill in that blank, but…."

He groaned as his memory started to catch up with him. "Right, the artifact." He'd been gooing and gooing and then all of a sudden he'd felt tired and then dizzy and then nothing. "When did you get here?"

"Maybe twenty minutes ago. One of the girls from school gave me a ride. I think she thinks I'm nuts now, but hey, what else is new?" She rubbed her forehead, and he frowned when he realized that her hand was shaking slightly.

"Claude? Are you okay? Hey, it's okay. You got it neutralized, I'm going to be fine."

She shook her head. "I know. I just…I kind of freaked out when I couldn't find you in the house, and then I realized how deep the mud is down there, and I was afraid…."

Because she wasn't stupid and that much mud could easily hide a body, he realized after a moment. He shook his head. "I'm okay," he said. "I'm glad you found me, though. I was stupid and touched the tent thing before I realized what it was."

"What, is there a rip in your gloves or something?" She wrinkled her nose. "And why do you look like you were rolling in the mud? You got _me_ all muddy!"

"Hey, you hugged me," he defended. Besides, he'd mostly just got her dusty since the mud on his clothes had dried. He must have been lying in the loft for a couple hours. "Half the garage is a boat ramp," he explained. "It's deep, and I didn't notice what it was until I slid down it."

"I'm glad I saw the ladder and climbed up here first, then. But I don't think the artifact was a tent, I think it was a wing. Or part of one, anyway. I mean, look at the shape. That'd be the front, and then it trails back, and…."

"A wing for what? Like an old plane from the Wright brothers or something?"

"Probably not them, but there were a lot of aviators before them who did glider stuff."

"Gliders that make people unconscious?" he asked skeptically. He didn't know enough about gliders to say that it _wasn't_ what she thought, but a tent still made more sense to him than a glider wing.

"Well, a lot of the old aviators crashed and died, and more than occasionally it involved head injuries and comas. Lilienthal was the most famous, but I don't know if any of his stuff ever got brought over to the US." She frowned. "Although Artie did mention him specifically the last time I was inventorying the flight aisles, so maybe." A quick shrug. "Anyway, you got most of it gooed before I got here, so I just finished the job. Congratulations, you found the artifact."

"Yeah, go me." He should probably be happier with his first real solo find—technically they'd both been on the case, sure, but he'd been here first so he was calling it—but his head was pounding. "Let's pack it up and get back to the apartment. I need an aspirin."

"There are sheets in the trunk. And if your gloves are ripped, change them so that doesn't happen again."

She was down the ladder before he could explain, and he shook his head and reached up to massage his temples. Getting artifacted had so not been on his list of things to do today. And granted that this artifact hadn't tried to strangle or suffocate him, but sending him into a coma really wasn't any better.

Claudia returned a few minutes later, and he helped her spread the purple sheet out and transfer the pieces of canvas and wood over. Carefully, because the last thing they needed to do was leave one behind. Or let it fall into the mud below.

"It's weird," she said as they gathered the corners of the sheet together.

"What do you mean?" The whole situation was weird. It was Warehouse; the Warehouse was weird.

"Well, all the kids ended up in comas too, but it wasn't so sudden. They all made it home first. Well, I guess one of the Erics passed out at work, but you know what I mean."

"Oh, it wasn't immediate. I kind of ripped my gloves climbing back up the boat ramp and I forgot to put on a new set before I got artifacted. And since I didn't know the timeframe I couldn't risk driving to you and slipping into a coma on the way."

"So why didn't you just call me?"

"My phone was in my pocket, and it wasn't really built to survive a trip underwater. And you've got our only Farnsworth. I was hoping I could get everything gooed before the artifact affected me, but obviously I ran out of time."

"Yeah, and you scared the hell out of me," she muttered.

"Sorry. If it makes you feel better, we can stop and get some ice cream on the way back. My treat."

She shook her head. "Just don't get artifacted like that again."

* * *

><p>"Jinksy!"<p>

Steve ordered his heart to get back in his chest as Pete swung him around and then released him, an involuntary smile crossing his face as he found his footing again. Pete was…Pete. "Hey," he said, lowering his clipboard. "You're back. Artifact safely secured?"

"Yeah, we got in half an hour or so ago. Myka took the axe, though; said she was going to find Leena and a good spot for it."

He looked vaguely disappointed, but as a general rule, Steve was pretty okay with Pete being axe-less.

"Hey, is Claudia okay?" Pete asked before Steve could say anything. "I ran into her up in the office, and I was going to get her to help me set up a Halloween aisle, but she didn't seem interested. She seemed really tired, actually."

"She will be, I think. But our last case was a little rough, and then I went and got myself artifacted on top of that, and…." He shook his head. She said she was fine, and it wasn't exactly a lie, but she'd also been sticking pretty close in the couple days that they'd been back. As close as she could when Artie had had her spending her days re-calibrating whatever in the gooery and coding up some kind of new monitoring system, anyway.

"Artifacted? Artie didn't mention that. Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm good. Claudia got it neutralized, but finding me comatose gave her kind of a shock." He paused and then looked at Pete. "Hey, did you know that she grew up in foster care?"

"Yeah, sure. Mykes and I dug up her background when she kidnapped Artie way back when. Why?"

"I didn't. I mean, she never lied about it or anything, it's just never came up before, and then suddenly it did for this case. It wasn't what I expected."

"Yeah, I guess it's the sort of thing you don't normally think about," Pete agreed. "And she doesn't really talk about it, but I get the feeling that it wasn't always the greatest situation. I mean, it's not exactly a glaring warning sign, but I put some of those re-lightly candles on her birthday cake last year, and I don't think she'd ever seen them before. What kind of kid has never seen re-lighting candles?"

Probably more than Pete thought, in Steve's opinion, but given what Claudia had told him about getting bounced around…. "Yeah."

"Hey, come on," Pete said, his grin returning as he slapped Steve's shoulder. "If Claudia doesn't want to help me set up a Halloween aisle, you can help me and we can scare the girls with it."

"Uh, Claude told me that Artie yelled at you for moving artifacts around for Halloween last year."

"Well, yeah, but that was months ago. Twelve, even. I'm sure he's forgotten about it by now. Besides, I've got a new idea that doesn't require a mummy."

"That's…comforting?"

"Come on," Pete ordered. "We need a mace, and I just saw one down Broadway 19 before we left. What was this artifact that knocked you out, anyway?"

"A wing from someone's glider."

"Someone's glider like a...?" Pete waved his arms in the air, presumably attempting to mimic a bird. "Man, that's just unfair. At least when I found wings I got to try flying. Whose glider was it, anyway?"

"I have no idea. Claude said something about a guy named Lilienthal, but when I called Artie on the Farnsworth to tell him what we found, all he said was , and I quote, 'Ha! I knew he brought it to America!' And then he hung up on me."

Pete grinned. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

* * *

><p>"No! No, no, and no! The artifacts in this warehouse are not toys!"<p>

"But—" Pete began.

"No!" Artie brandished a folder. "_You_ are going to find Claudia and the two of you are going to go to Arizona and check out this arrowhead situation. You have an hour to pack and be at the airport."

"What arrowhead situation?" Pete asked.

"Claudia?" Steve asked at the same time. Once again, she was supposed to be his partner. Especially since even if she seemed to be feeling a little better, she was still sticking pretty close to him. She'd be here now, but apparently the finishing touches on the gooery were taking longer than expected. And besides, he and Pete had made enough progress that Steve was kind of looking forward to showing her the finished product. Usually she was the one who got to show off the cool stuff.

"You and Myka are going to an auction," Artie said, turning towards him. "It's in two days, and I've been trying to get my hands on that volume for years. I don't want anything going wrong. She has the details." He paused. "But first you're putting everything in this aisle that doesn't belong here back where it belongs. Pete, get going."

"Wh—but it was his idea!" Steve protested. He didn't want to have to move all of this crap by himself. Some of it was heavy.

"Bye, Jinksy," Pete said with a grin and a slap on the shoulder.


	31. Auction: That's Mine

_Thanks to everyone who read and talyag, Makokam, Ermingard, Othiara, rockyshadow, RebelGirl, Tel nok shok, and dragonchrysalis for reviewing._

* * *

><p>"This is great," Myka murmured, not for the first time. "Links, cross-references…is there a bookmark feature? There should really be a bookmark feature."<p>

Steve sighed and debated grabbing the Farnsworth and calling Claudia. Of course, the entire call would consist of 'Myka stole my manual and won't give it back,' and he'd just end up feeling ridiculous since it wasn't like there was anything that Claudia could do from Arizona, but Myka _had_ stolen his manual and _wasn't_ giving it back.

He hadn't even meant to let her see it, but the little card that Artie had given them hadn't provided much detail beyond the listing that they were supposed to purchase—or, if that wasn't possible, confiscate, appropriate, or otherwise acquire—and the specific book in that listing that he wanted, and since Myka had been on the phone with the auction house and not available for questions at the time, Steve had decided to see if the manual had any more information. It was just his luck that Myka had hung up as he'd turned it on and had seen him reading. One glance over his shoulder had led to a longer look which had been followed by her snatching it right out of his hands. He shook his head. Weren't people like Myka supposed to insist on real books?

"I'm still not sure about this case," he finally prompted. "It's the _second_ volume of Baudelaire's poems that causes depression? I thought it was always the first volume of whatever that ended up in the Warehouse."

"Hm. Oh, usually it is, but…." She shook her head and finally set his manual aside as she turned her attention back to him. "Baudelaire's first volume of poems, _Les Fluers de mal_, contained some rather risky subject material given the time period in which it was written, and shortly after publication both Baudelaire and his publisher were tried and found guilty of offenses against public morals."

"Found guilty as in sent to jail? For a book?"

"Well, it was just a fine, but four years later when he did a reprint Baudelaire was forced to remove several of the more controversial poems. He added new work to replace them, but his depression at the time was severe—multiple suicide attempts, although there's some debate among historians as to whether they were caused by the alterations to his work or because of issues with his current mistress—and the first printing of the second volume absorbed that depression."

"Wait, this book drives people to suicide?" Steve flipped the card over, but there was no more information printed on the back. "And Artie didn't consider that worth mentioning?"

"I don't think it's normally that extreme. From Artie's research, it takes a great deal of time in proximity to the artifact for the effects to reach a dangerous level."

"Well, what qualifies as a great deal of time for Artie? I mean, Pete considers half an hour for brownies to bake…."

"Years," Myka said quickly. "Maybe even decades. Baudelaire's mother inherited what little estate he had left when he died, and then upon her death four years later—of entirely natural causes—it went to a cousin of some form. Artie thinks that the book was responsible for the suspicious death of the maid in charge of the library there a dozen years later, but obviously there was no proof, and when the cousin died of tuberculosis it went with the rest of the library to yet another side branch of the family. After that, Artie couldn't find any more information about it until it showed up at an auction in 1926."

"And since then?"

"There have been two book collectors who became ascetics of one sort or another after it came into their possession, but there haven't been any suicides among the owners or the owners' immediate family members. Baudelaire was well known by the time it reappeared, though, and no respectable book collector would keep a book like that out on the shelves. It would have been in a private, protected area so exposure would have been limited."

"So how did it end up at the auction house here?"

"Mr. David Michaels, who was an avid book collector for his entirely life but whose remaining family is not so inclined, passed away about a year ago, at which point it moved with the rest of his private collection into the auction house vault." Myka waved a hand. "Well, isn't actually a vault; it's a secure temperature-controlled warehouse about thirty miles outside the city. Thus far, since its arrival, they've had the primary caretaker give away his home and all of his possessions to become a hermit because, and this is a direct quote, 'the weight of humanity is far too pressing'—"

"I'm sorry, did you say hermit?" Steve interrupted. "Can people in the twenty-first century actually become hermits?"

"Apparently." Myka shrugged. "Artie thinks that he must have either kept the book on his desk or been unusually susceptible to its effects. It happens. But there are also two research assistants who left under unusual circumstances, one to become a priest and one to 'reexamine his existence.'"

Steve tensed. "Maybe it's me, but someone reexamining his existence doesn't sound so good."

"Well, he's currently working for a landscaping company in Martha's Vineyard so at least he hasn't removed himself from existence."

"Huh." Better than he'd envisioned, at least. "Okay, but if it's been there for a year why are they just auctioning it now? Did it really take that long to authenticate everything?"

"No, but Mr. Michaels' heirs have been fighting over the estate—or fighting over who'll get the proceeds of the estate, rather—and the auction house couldn't put anything up for sale until ownership was determined by the courts. Artie tried to get them to do an early sale to him right after the curator left, but they wouldn't even consider his offer."

"Legal matters mean lawyers," Steve said. "_Is_ everything settled? I mean, nobody is going to come along in six months and try and sue the Warehouse or anything, right?"

"The official settlement was handed down two weeks ago, but the fact that there have been so many lawyers involved is part of the reason we're trying to buy the artifact rather than just taking possession of it."

"Right, 'we have to confiscate this book for mental health reasons' probably wouldn't go over so well."

"Exactly."

Steve rubbed his forehead. "Do we know if anyone else at the auction house has been affected? I mean, besides the three you told me about?"

"Presumably everyone who's been in the vault to some degree, but we won't know how badly until we get there. We missed the first viewing today, but they should have the lots set out right before the auction." She paused. "I wonder what the manual has to say about other proximity-type artifacts."

"But—"

She grabbed his manual off the nightstand and thumbed it on again, shifting to lean back against the headboard of the bed.

"—that's mine," he finished. To absolutely no effect. "I'm borrowing the Farnsworth."

* * *

><p>"Fake. Everything is fake. <em>Life<em> is fake."

The auctioneer flung an egg shaped statue that was probably worth more than Steve made in a month backwards, over her shoulder, and Steve cringed as it hit the floor with a crash. "Yeah, I think we can safely say that she's been affected as well."

"A doorman who's too tired to actually open the door, a receptionist lecturing auction-goers on the futility of her love life, and an auctioneer who…." Myka gestured forward.

"They probably moved the book—all of Mr. Michaels' books—here as soon as the estate was settled and they knew that they were going to be able to auction them," Steve said. "I mean, his stuff has been taking up space in their warehouse for over a year now. But Artie said it takes years to have an effect, right? Not a week or two."

Myka nodded. "And take a look at the security guards at the door. I doubt they're regular employees, but they didn't even twitch when she threw the egg. They aren't paying any attention to the crowd right now, either. We could probably walk right out with half the antiques and they wouldn't even notice."

"So what do you think? Something's amplifying the effects?"

"It has to be. Maybe the way they're storing the artifact or displaying it, or there could even be another artifact involved."

Myka shook her head, and Steve nodded. Amplification was the only explanation that made sense, at least as much as anything did with artifacts. Although he really hoped that a second artifact wasn't involved. A quick glance around showed that the rest of the audience looked more shocked at the auctioneer's actions than anything else so at least they hadn't been affected yet, and he glanced over at the pamphlet that Myka had picked up at the start of the auction. "How long until the books is up?" If it was more than a few items in the future, maybe they would be better off trying to snatch it.

"It's in the first of the Michaels lots, so there's two more before it," Myka said. "It should be in that box the kid just put behind the podium."

The box that they hadn't been able to look in before the auction, unfortunately, since all of the books had been re-crated for their protection after the viewing that they'd missed, but it did list Baudelaire's book among the contents. "I guess we're just going to have to wait it out, then." He looked over. "You aren't feeling particularly fatalistic or anything, right?"

"Not that I can tell. You?"

"Still all right. Let's just hope that there aren't any more breakable items bef—oh, hell, that's a machete."

Myka's eyes widened as she looked back at the auctioneer and the item she'd just pulled out of a wooden case. "Who auctions a _machete_?" she demanded. "Especially before half a dozen lots of books?" She glanced down at the pamphlet. "Oh, wonderful, it's just listed her as an early 20th century South American artifact."

"Let's just hope that she doesn't throw this one."


	32. Auction: Complications

_Thanks to everyone who read and Atashi Desu, rockyshadow, Makakom, Crukix, parkitcharlie, Cato, Mille Verity, islandsandi heap, Katharen Silver, Ermingard, and and two guests for reviewing. Apologies for the long wait...I was out of the country for work for a couple months, and then there was holiday craziness and all of that. Hopefully things will be a little more regular going forward._

_As far as how far this story will go, my original plan was to run it to the end of season 3 staying with canon as much as possible (although I'm obviously including some of my own case stuff). However, I may end up including a couple things from season 4 just to tie up some loose ends, including the metronome my way. Which, for the record, means no (spoiler alert) magical reappearing parents._

* * *

><p>Steve fingered his Tesla as the auctioneer held the machete aloft, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Myka doing the same thing. "Where's Claudia and her Tesla grenade when you need her?" he muttered.<p>

"I don't think even Claudia could make a Tesla grenade with enough power to take out all of the people in this room," Myka returned. "Now, is it just me, or is she way too interested in that blade?"

"Maybe she just thinks it's shiny?"

From the sideways look Myka gave him she didn't believe that either, but unless they wanted to Tesla the woman in front of a room full of people, there wasn't much that they could do except wait her out. "Isn't there some kind of blinky-thing from the Warehouse that we can use to make the audience forget that we Tesla'd her?" Steve asked. "You know, like in Pete's secret agent movie?" Because the hand the auctioneer had under the flat of the blade to display it seemed to be sliding down towards the handle to join her other hand, and he really didn't like her expression. If she tried to use the machete _on_ someone they were going to have to intervene and make up whatever explanation they could afterwards.

"Teslas at just the right setting can cause short-term memory loss, it happened to Pete once, but it's really dependent on the person and the frequency and all of that. With an audience this size there's no way that it will work on everyone."

Right, Artie had Tesla'd him once upon a time and he'd had no trouble remembering what had happened. He hadn't _understood_ it, and he certainly hadn't been able to give his superiors at the ATF any kind of coherent explanation—'a little redhead with purple gloves and a tremolo bar and an old guy with eyebrows and a giant bag broke into the museum to play Jimi Hendrix's guitar' didn't count as coherent—but he'd remembered.

The auctioneer's free hand reached the handle and she let out an earsplitting yell and drove the machete downwards, and Steve let out a sigh of relief as she embedded it deep in the wood of the podium.

"Well, that's not going to come loose anytime soon," Myka murmured.

The auctioneer gave a few tugs and then seemed to reach that conclusion as well, and the despondence caused by the book finally came in handy because she gave up and declared it unsellable and then gestured for the next lot to be brought forward. The whispering among the audience was louder now, for which Steve couldn't blame them, but there was only this lot of stone bookends remaining before the first lot of books would come up. The one containing the volume that they wanted. "How much damage do you think a pair of bookends can do?" he asked Myka as they auctioneer picked up the first. "I think we might be all right, I mean, they look too heavy to throw very far."

"Did Claudia ever tell you about the time that Pete and I switched bodies?"

"_Bookends_?"

Nod.

"Oh, great." Not only was his life weird, it was just unfair sometimes.

* * *

><p>Despite himself Steve felt his lips twitching as he tried to sort out everything that had happened in the last ten minutes, and just when he thought he'd gotten himself under control he made the mistake of glancing over at Myka. Her eyes flicked up to meet his and—<p>

They burst into laughter at the same time, and Myka shook her head. "We are never telling _anyone_ about this. Ever. We're getting out of here, and when Artie and Pete and Claudia ask how it went, we are smiling and nodding and telling them it was a boring trip."

"No argument here," he agreed. He thought the world of Claudia, but there was no way that she'd ever let him live it down if he told her that he'd run out the front of an auction house—an auction house full of people—with an artifact in his arms. Well, possibly two artifacts. And Pete would be even worse. And he didn't need another lecture from Artie after the whole Halloween decoration thing. He glanced down at the pile of glass shards at his feet and was glad that he wore boots as a matter of habit.

The bookends had been sold fairly quickly, for considerably less than the seller had wanted if the groan from a man in the row in front of them had been any indication, but that hadn't been Steve's problem, and his focus had been on the auctioneer as she'd lifted a glass case out of the next box to show to the crowd.

Despite the fact that he knew that one of the books in the case was their item, Steve had felt a wave of absolute apathy settling over him as soon as he'd seen it. A majority of the other auction-goers had been affected as well judging by the sudden slump of shoulders in front of him, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to care about that either, and if it hadn't been for Myka's elbow striking him sharply in the ribs he'd probably have continued to sit there in silence. That elbow had reminded him that he was _supposed_ to care, though, and he'd shoved his hands into the gloves she'd thrust at him and hurried forward behind her. The auctioneer at the podium was making a respectable attempt to sell the books inside the case, but no one in the crowd seemed interested in putting in the effort to raise their paddles, and after a moment of indecision he'd ended up picking up the entire case and hurrying out of the room. As Myka had predicted earlier—and despite the fact that she'd had her Tesla in her hand ready to take them out—the security guards hadn't even twitched.

"Was it the case, then?" he asked. "Amplifying it, I mean?" He made it out of the auction house but had ended up dropping the case on the near side of the parking lot…if anyone asked he was going to claim that it was because that was the fastest way to get to the artifact through the glass, but he was pretty sure that at that point he just hadn't cared that much about carrying it anymore. Myka had been the one with her wits about her enough to scoop the five books lying among the glass shards into an the artifact collecting bag, which was when his mind had finally cleared, but he didn't remember anything sparking purple when the glass had shattered.

"I don't know." She nudged one of the larger glass shards with her foot. "It's possible, but I didn't see any purple sparks when it broke, and it looks like every other display case that they had in the room. We should probably bag the pieces up and take it with us, though, just in case."

"What were the other books in the lot?" he asked as he knelt and began to collect the larger pieces.

Myka shook her head. "They were just listed as rare nineteenth-century first editions in the auction catalogue. You really think they'd have done better with the advertising."

"Maybe whoever was writing up the catalogue looked at the thing. It's…I didn't want to do anything once she pulled it out. Just _bam_."

"Yeah, it looked like it hit you pretty hard," she agreed.

"It didn't bother you?"

"Oh, I felt it, but it wasn't like getting hit in the head or anything. It was just general disinterest. And I knew that that was wrong because it's a case of books. I figured we'd better get out of there quickly before things got any worse."

Right, obviously his bookworm coworker not being interested in books would be a big red flag. "Different artifacts, different people." He sighed and waved a hand. It was annoying that he always seemed to be on the downside of that statement. Just once he'd like to see an artifact that made someone else do something ridiculous while he stood there unaffected.

"Exactly."

He looked down at the pile of glass he'd collected and then shook his head. "Come on, we'd better get out of here because if the effect has worn off everywhere, there are probably going to be some security guys coming looking for us pretty soon." At least the glass shards were all fairly large and he'd dropped it on asphalt so they wouldn't have to worry about leaving a piece of something behind.

"Good point."

Myka helped him load them up into one of the purple bags quickly and then added the metal edge pieces as well, and the bag was made of sterner stuff than it looked like because he didn't see it starting to rip anywhere despite the sharp edges. Steve was still careful, though. Maybe the case was an artifact and maybe it wasn't, but he'd already been hit once thanks to a ripped glove.

"We are going to have to call Claudia about those security cameras, though," Myka said suddenly as they stood. "Did you see them on the way in? I didn't see anything that would be a control room anywhere in the building so they're probably on a loop, but we don't need that getting to local law enforcement."

Steve grimaced. He'd noted the cameras on the way in too, but he hadn't thought about them after that. Maybe the effects hadn't all worn off yet. And so much for keeping this quiet. "I'll call her from the room." And bribe her with something to keep her from showing the video to Pete.

Myka nodded, and if the security guards did end up leaving the auction house in search of them, it wasn't until they were on the road.

"You call Claudia about the security tapes, I'm going to take a look at the books," Myka said when they reached the hotel.

"Uh, is that a good idea?"

"I've got gloves, and I brought my reading goggles with me. And if it's not the case that was amplifying the artifact—and I'm not convinced that it was—we're going to need to know what the real culprit is before we shelve it. I'll do it in the bathroom so it won't affect you."

Steve thought that that would be better done in the Warehouse as opposed to in the bathroom, and he was pretty sure that Artie would agree…hell, under most circumstances he was pretty sure that Myka would agree, but then again, it was a book. "Be careful," he warned.

"I will."

The Farnsworth flickered to life when he opened it, but it took several minutes for Claudia's face to appear. "Jinksy? What's up? If Myka took your tablet again, I'll have to fix it later."

"What? No, the tablet's fine." As far as he knew, anyway; Myka had ever actually given it back. "Although I'm telling you it could use a password."

She wrinkled her nose. "Passwords are so twentieth century. But if it's not the tablet, what's up?"

"We need you to wipe some security tapes for us. There was an…incident…at the auction house, and Myka and I were probably caught on the video." She'd no doubt watch the tapes for herself, at which point his prevarication would be for nothing, but he wasn't going to come out and say it if he didn't have too. "Are you still in Arizona?" he asked after a moment. Now that he was focusing that didn't look like the Warehouse or the B and B behind her, and usually she'd be reaching for her laptop by now. And…. "Claude, are you okay?"

She scowled. "This is _totally_ Pete's fault."


End file.
